


To Tame Your Wild, Wild Heart

by MsFangirlFace



Category: The Bletchley Circle, The Bletchley Circle: San Francisco (TV)
Genre: Angst, Black market escapades, Bletchley flashbacks, Era-typical homophobia, F/F, Fluff, Fuck buddies to a hot mess to girlfriends, Power Play (Dom/Sub), Pre-Series, Queer Found Family, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 54,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsFangirlFace/pseuds/MsFangirlFace
Summary: “Good girl,” she said, with a nod. “I’m very impressed.”Millie felt a buzz of satisfaction flow through her at those words. She might be floating through her life, quite aimless, her talents might be being wasted in a society that was happy to discard women in peacetime, but she could achieve this: she could be good for Jean.When a listless Millie unexpectedly bumps into Jean a few years after the end of the War, she finds out that healing can take unexpected forms.
Relationships: Millie Harcourt/Jean McBrian, Past Millie/Susan
Comments: 75
Kudos: 23





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is: my Millie/Jean NaNoWriMo fic! I am so excited (and nervous!) to share it.
> 
> Thanks to my beloved proofreaders and cheerleaders, (including the excellent MissRachelThalberg) who have been a constant source of enthusiasm and encouragement throughout the process. Thanks also to everyone who liked or commented on the daily snippets I posted on Tumblr whilst I was writing the first draft - knowing people were interested was so incredibly motivating! 
> 
> The tags I've included are overarching ones, I'll put more specific ones in the notes before each chapter. 
> 
> The title is from the lyrics to Crash and Burn by Savage Garden and I regret nothing, they are beautiful:
> 
> _"When you feel all alone  
>  And the world has turned its back on you  
> Give me a moment please  
> To tame your wild, wild heart."_
> 
> Enjoy! <3

_London, 1948_

As she stepped over the threshold to the bar, Millie didn’t even know why she was there. It was as good a place as any in London, she guessed, perhaps a little better, although the reality was that _nowhere_ felt especially good. She was sick of spending evenings alone in her pokey little flat, where she could barely afford to light the furnace and which smelled distinctly like the cheap-smelling perfume of the girl she had sublet it to whilst she was away, which she appeared to have _bathed_ in. She would rather spend the money she could pull together on a couple of drinks and the vague glimmer of a chance of feeling less _shit_ about herself.

Places like this had been favoured haunts during the War, when Edward was home on leave and she could get away from Bletchley for a weekend (not that, she suspected, he really had any concept of the fact that she was there for something other than to keep him company on his journey of personal discovery). Edward was gone now, of course, settled on the other side of the Atlantic, the only benefit of which being that she could visit an establishment that catered exclusively to her own tastes. She had heard about this place before and had always said to Susan that they should visit, although they had never quite made it, an astute metaphor she tried not to dwell on. She had decided to visit tonight on the off chance, remembering its vague location from conversations over the years, but was honestly surprised to see it was still standing. So much of London had been flattened in the war, it seemed somehow unlikely that such a venue would have survived, but there it was; clearly the recipient of some not-insignificant repair work, but regardless it had made it through. There it was; clearly the recipient of some not-insignificant repair work, but regardless it had made it through.

Just inside the doorway she encountered a woman, probably in her forties or fifties, stood leaning against the wall with one elbow, smoking a cigarette.

“Evening, darlin’,” she said, with a strong Cockney accent. “You know what kind of place this is?”

“I do,” Millie said. “Just my kind of place.” The woman wasn’t her type, but she found herself using a flirtatious tone simply because she _could_.

The woman winked, and then stepped aside to allow Millie to pass her.

Millie made her way through the inside door and to the bar, glancing as she went to see if there was anyone she recognised. It had been a long time, of course, those girls who had caught her eye from across the room those years ago were possibly amongst the dead and missing of the Blitz, and if not that, probably married with children by now. That was the way things seemed to go - women didn’t stay like her forever. Still, she guessed they would have mostly fared better than many of the boys she had spent time with on her previous nights out, Edward’s old chums. She dreaded to think where, statistically, those young men were most likely to have ended up. 

The room was busy enough, though, and she was never against the possibility of making friends; _particularly_ of the pretty kind that might mean one spent just a little less time alone. She took a seat at a table near the bar, and gave her order to an older woman when she asked. 

“You new around here?” the woman asked, handing Millie her drink. She was handsome, masculine in a different way to the woman who had been on the door, with longish greying hair and strong features.

“In a sense, I suppose,” Millie replied. “Not to... this,” she added, with a small smirk. “But to here, to London. It all feels a bit different than when I was here last.”

“There’s a lot been going on, since the War,” the woman said.

“Yes,” Millie said, not entirely sure how to explain that it wasn’t really what she meant at all. “I’ve been travelling, you see,” she offered.

“Still getting used to the English weather again?” the woman asked.

Millie laughed. “Yes, something like that. Thank you.”

She found herself feeling disappointed (quite unreasonably, she knew) that this woman didn’t get it. She didn’t know how to say she felt new, not just here, but in the world, quite unable to settle, unstructured and untethered... lost. These were feelings she knew she would have revelled in previously, but this felt different, like the difference between feeling _free_ and feeling as if she was _free-falling_. She had no job, no obvious way to make money beyond the rather less conventional methods to which she had turned during the tail end of her travels, a means to an end but not something she was in any to hurry to return to. She had no close friends to speak of, just friendly enough acquaintances who shared her building or who she chatted vaguely to when buying cigarettes or friends from the past who didn’t get it either, locked up as they were in their privileged lives.

She missed Bletchley often, not just the work, although that certainly was a factor – she missed using her brain, missed knowing that the things that she did could make a difference. More than that, though, (and she surprised herself for even thinking this way) she missed the _routines_. She missed the structures, how everything worked the same each day, how the ordinary mixed with the extraordinary. She missed these things not because she had always adhered to them – _certainly not_ , she was quite consistently in trouble with Miss McBrian for some little thing, oversleeping and missing the start of the shift (Susan having given up trying to wake her on more than one occasion) or taking unauthorised smoke breaks – but because Millie, having always positioned herself in opposition to rules, didn’t really know who she was without them and couldn’t quite figure out how to function without having boundaries to push against . She had done it all her life, of course. She had been the same at school and in her life with her family (where the tension of her rebellion had played itself out the most dramatically), but Bletchley had made it happen on a new level (they may not have been soldiers but it was the military) and in a way which particularly suited her. There, she was part of something that felt worthwhile but with opportunities to antagonise _just enough_ to satisfy that part of her. 

She had managed these feelings whilst she was travelling – it was hard to miss something when in a place which looked and felt so markedly different, Prague and Tunis and Bangalore were such a different context – but since being back in London, the familiarity and proximity meant that everything felt quite distinctly _not Bletchley_. It was silly, she knew, to yearn for that past, a place where the world had quite literally descended into chaos, but she couldn’t shake it.

She was awakened from her thoughts by the sound of a voice near her saying “A gin and tonic, please, Mary, dear.” She laughed to herself, thinking her thoughts of Bletchley had somehow summoned that Scottish brogue. The speaker really did sound a lot like -

“ _Jean_?” Millie said on looking up, much louder than she had intended, causing a few other visitors to the bar to turn their heads towards her as she was audible over the piano music coming from the corner of the room.

Jean turned her head, looking understandably a little startled. She raised her eyebrows. “Millie Harcourt,” she said, “It’s been a little while.”

“How are you? And _what_ are you doing here?” Millie said.  
“Is there any preference on which of those questions I answer first?” Jean asked.

Millie recovered a small amount of calm in encountering Jean’s trademark dryness. “Whichever order you please,” she said. She found that she instinctively wanted to add ‘Miss McBrian’, but recognised that it would be strangely out of place to do so here.

“I’m well, thank you, dear. Slightly troublesome day at work but nothing that some of Mary’s best gin won’t sort out,” Jean said. “And I _imagine _I am here doing much the same thing as you.”__

____

____

Millie opened her mouth to speak but found only a soft “Oh” came out.

“I’m what they call in some quarters an invert, dear, and I have to say I am surprised this is new information to you, of all people,” Jean said briskly, the hint of a blush visible in her cheeks the only thing that gave away any possible discomfort.

Millie couldn’t say that she hadn’t _suspected_ at Bletchley – there had always been an _air_ about Jean which she related to, and she had seemed altogether too forthright, too invested in sensible shoes, to suit being with a man – but she had rather assumed that Jean herself didn’t _know_ that, and the idea that she _did_ , not only enough to admit it to herself but to come out to a place like this of an evening, did rather surprise her. 

“I would never have had such thoughts about a superior,” Millie said.

“Of course not,” Jean said. “You were always such a stickler for the rules.” She looked at her pointedly.

Millie, to her surprise, had to look away when she felt herself blushing.

“Would you care to join me?” Millie asked. “Unless, of course, you’re meeting someone...?”

The other woman looked as if she was considering her options, and Millie felt briefly mortified about the idea of being turned down.

“I’m not meeting anyone specific, no,” Jean said, after a few moments. “It wouldn’t hurt to join you for a little while, if that is okay with you?” 

“That’s fine. I’m sure if anyone feels the need to sweep me off my feet we can ask her to wait until after you’ve finished your gin, and vice versa,” Millie said.

Jean laughed, in way which felt to Millie was both warm and somewhat unsettled. “Naturally, dear.” She put her handbag on the back of the chair opposite Millie and, offering a grateful smile, took her drink from Mary. “Same question to you, then. The first one, I mean. How are you? How was the big adventure?”

It was an entirely reasonable place to start, given that Millie had done very little in the final months at Bletchley but talk about the travelling she planned to do with Susan, it had been well known that her entire plan involved getting as far away from England as she could.

“The travelling was on the whole quite wonderful, although not without its challenges,” Millie said.

“As one would expect,” Jean said. 

It didn’t go unnoticed to Millie that there was no mention of Susan, and she felt both grateful and a little foolish that it could perhaps have been so clear to everyone else that the other woman had no intention of joining her.

“Quite,” Millie agreed. “I saw the Taj Mahal, Jean, and so many other brilliant things, it was truly splendid. It feels quite unreal to me, now.”

“I’m sure,” Jean said. “What are you doing for work?”

“Oh, I’m not long back,” Millie said. “I’m just finding my feet, really. What about you?”

“I’m a librarian,” Jean said. She paused, as if waiting for a quip from Millie, which didn’t come. “I stayed on with Mr Turing for a couple of years after wrapping things up at Bletchley, which was longer than I had expected to be honest, but then he was asked to join a project up North with staff already provided. It seems there is a not a large calling for former ‘clerical workers’ in many jobs, but the library suits me fine.”

Millie lit a cigarette to buy herself some time. The idea of Jean McBrian spending her days calculating overdue fines and recommending Dickens novels to people who never intended to read them was absurd to her. It was logical, of course – outside of people who knew, ‘I signed the Official Secrets Act’ likely meant nothing – but what a waste of talent. The fiercely intelligent and quite formidable (Millie had never been scared of her, but even she could understand that she did present that way) woman who had been responsible for leading the girls who helped win the war, a librarian? She couldn’t deny, of course, that Jean’s fashion choices suited the role, but she was worth much more than becoming the embodiment of her pleated skirts.

“Do you miss it?” Millie said, finally deciding that she had nothing that wasn’t either insulting or depressing to say in response.

“Bletchley?” Jean asked.

Millie exhaled smoke and nodded.

“Well, I couldn’t say I miss the War,” Jean said. 

Millie didn’t know a lot about Jean’s personal life (quite evidently, she thought, from her surprise by their meeting that night), just snippets from conversations they had had over various evenings spent drinking tea together at Bletchley (they had been almost close, in funny sort of way, for a time). What she did know was that the other woman had lost a lot through war; a whole squadron from her home village, including two of her brothers in the First and a nephew in the Second. It made sense for her, more than for Millie, who had, beyond the collective trauma that seemed to be collectively ignored, been unscathed by it, to want to make that distinction. 

“Of course. But, the War aside. Bletchley itself,” Millie said.

“I don’t know how a person could even begin to separate Bletchley from the War,” Jean said.

Millie was about to give up the line of questioning when Jean spoke again.

“I suppose, if it’s separated into its parts – the intellectual challenge, the sense of contributing to something larger, making a difference, then I guess you could say I do miss it,” Jean said. 

“Just dealing with us girls you can do without?” Millie said. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jean said. “You had your moments, all of you.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Millie said. Her eyes lit up with a memory. “Do you remember the time that boyfriend of Virginia Smith’s - you know, the one who used to bring the post in the mornings – arranged to meet her in her digs but climbed in the wrong window and scared the life out of Jenny Adams?”

“Remember it? I still have nightmares about the sight of him in his underwear, the poor girl defending herself with a hairbrush,” Jean said.

They both laughed and Millie felt a warmth, some kind of sense of belonging, that she hadn’t had since Bletchley.

“Do you want to know something funny?” Millie asked.

“Funnier than a half-naked intruder in a top-secret military base in the middle of a blackout?” Jean said drily.

Millie smiled. “Perhaps, actually.”

“Try me, dear,” Jean said.

“I miss the rules, the structure,” Millie said. “Lots of the girls too, of course-” They hadn’t stayed in touch like they had all intended to, or, at least, she hadn’t. She had planned to be _very much_ in touch with Susan, of course, but things hadn’t worked out that way, and until now, the idea of speaking to anyone else from Bletchley had felt to Millie like it would only serve as a reminder of that. Like every letter, every phone call, would make her think of being on a journey she had planned to take with another person, alone. “And the work, but mostly, somehow, your desperate attempts to keep me in line.”

“I’ll have you know there was nothing desperate about them, girl,” Jean replied. “You’re not as difficult to manage as you think.”

There was a brief silence and Millie noticed a flash of mischief in Jean’s eyes which both caught her off-guard and intrigued her.

“Do you want another drink?” Millie asked.

“I don’t see any reason why not,” Jean replied.

Another drink became several more drinks over another a couple of hours, the conversation filled mostly with Millie talking about her dissatisfaction with her current lot in increasingly dramatic terms, interspersed with each of them sharing amusing anecdotes from Bletchley. 

Millie found herself quite content with her evening’s company, and didn’t find that she paid a huge amount of attention to the bar’s other occupants, whose numbers got smaller as time went on. At one point she looked up to see quite an attractive young woman looking somewhat intently in her direction. She was, in all honestly, exactly the kind of girl she had come out that night hoping she could charm into bed, but, as she listened to Jean recalling a particularly raucous (by Bletchley standards), Christmas party, at which several of the Hut Three girls had drunk too much sherry and treated everyone to a tuneless rendition of a song by The Andrews Sisters, she found that she couldn’t bring herself to cut their night together short. She didn’t meet the other woman’s gaze, didn’t invite her to join them, didn’t allow Jean to politely make her excuses, and she couldn’t really bring herself to mind too much.

They were both recovering from laughing at another story when Jean said she needed to go.

“Surely they don’t have you working on a Saturday?” Millie said.

“There’s always work to be done, Millie,” Jean said. “Books rest for no man... or woman.”

“I’m sure,” Millie said, letting herself roll her eyes, but not unkindly.

“First though, about those _difficulties_ you’ve been having...” Jean said.

Millie’s instinctive reaction was to interrupt, to enquire about _what exactly that meant_ , but she somehow managed to hold her tongue.

“With your _lack of boundaries_ and so on,” Jean said.

“Yes,” Millie said, quite unsure where this was going.

“Well, there are, _certain ways_ one might be able to explore some of those things without having to resort to starting another international conflict,” Jean said slowly. “Which I think we can both agree would be best avoided.”

“Okay,” Millie said, drawing out the ‘a’ noise to illustrate her confusion.

She watched as Jean took a small notebook from her handbag and scribbled some words down it before ripping out the page and holding it out for her to take.

“My address. I’m always home on a Saturday evening, it gets far too busy out for me. Next Saturday would suit me if it does you, around 8 o’clock,” Jean said. She leaned over the table and added: “We’ll see if we can’t instill a bit of discipline in you in peacetime.” She stood. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Perhaps I’ll see you again soon.”

Millie watched her leave, her curiosity truly piqued. Unless she was very much mistaken, she had just been propositioned by Jean McBrian, and whilst it had certainly not been the evening she had anticipated, she found that she didn’t mind at all.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing smutty here... it's the pre-smut, if you will, just two gals, being pals, establishing consent and a safeword.

_London, 1948_

By the time she was making her way to Jean’s the following Saturday evening, Millie was quite sure she must have misinterpreted the end of their previous exchange. She had spent much of the week thinking about it, in between trawling around the cafes near her flat looking for work, and had concluded that there was surely _no way_ Jean had been suggesting they sleep together, and even _less_ than no way that she had been suggesting the _kind_ of sex which her words had brought to mind. The concept was entirely absurd.

  
However, she couldn’t deny that the _idea_ of it had intrigued her in a way she had never previously considered. The thought of being disciplined by Miss McBrian, a woman she had worked alongside for more than five years and never taken a second look at, had become, in just a few days, a delicious fantasy, albeit one that she was quite convinced was not going to happen.

  
The first hour or so of her visit gave her no reasons to think otherwise. Jean, giving nothing away in her facial expression if she was surprised to see her, served a delicious stew (“Just yesterday’s leftovers, but I’m glad you enjoyed it”) and her homemade damson gin. After clearing their plates, she asked if Millie would like to play cards, and Millie felt assured that this was nothing more than a pleasant night in with an old sort-of friend. (She found it a little uncomfortable, but mostly somewhat exhilarating, to watch Jean when her back was turned and _wonder_.)

  
They were in their third round of rummy when Millie heard herself saying “You know, I thought you had invited me here tonight for a rather different purpose than this.”

  
Jean looked up from her hand. “Really, dear. And what purpose might that be?” she said.

  
Something about the way she looked at Millie made her feel a bit tongue-tied. Her stare was direct, like she would use when was asking if there was _a particular reason nobody was working_ when they were at Bletchley, but there was also a dash of that _mischief_ which Millie had seen in her eyes the last time they had met.

  
“Oh, you know, just something a little more _unusual_ , although obviously I was wrong. Silly, really,” Millie said.

  
“I think I made my intentions perfectly clear, within the realms of the necessary discretion. If you thought I meant something, you are probably right,” Jean replied. “What did you think I meant?”  
There it was; the challenge, the boundary to push against. It was clear to Millie that Jean didn’t think she would say it out loud, despite her inclination to shock, that the other woman had no intention of being the first to spell it out. Millie was reluctant to prove anyone’s assumptions about her to be correct, but she decided to play her cards close to her chest a little longer. “It rather seemed that you were trying to ask me on some kind of _date_ ,” she said.

  
“I don’t think you thought that at all,” Jean said. “Or, at the very least, I think you could be a bit more specific.”

  
Millie met her stare for a few seconds as she weighed up her options. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I can.”

  
The tension in the room broke as quickly as it had built and Millie watched Jean play her next card.

  
“It’s your turn,” she said.

  
“Are you serious?” Millie said.

  
“I am quite serious, dear. I just played my turn, and now it’s yours,” Jean said.

  
“I’m not talking about the card game,” Millie said.

  
“Neither am I,” Jean replied.

  
“I don’t know how you ever get women into bed if you’re always this bloody obtuse,” Millie said.

  
The corners of Jean’s mouth turned up into a small smile.

  
“You call it being obtuse, I see it as all part of the process,” Jean said. When Millie raised her eyebrows, she added: “You did what I wanted, didn’t you?”

  
“Touché,” Millie said.

  
“Shall we take a seat on the settee?” Jean said. “Unless, of course, you are very invested in finishing this particular game before we start another?”

  
Millie shook her head, momentarily silenced by the way this new (to her) side of Jean was unfurling in front of her. “The settee sounds fine,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”

  
Jean nodded as she got up from the table. “It’s a filthy habit, but the idea that there’s nothing attractive about it is propaganda, certainly,” she said.

  
Taking that as a yes, Millie lit a cigarette and made her way over to the living area, sitting down on the settee next to Jean. She was utterly unsure about what was going to happen next but she found that the complete lack of a script, in that moment, excited her more than it scared her; she was directionless, but she was safe.

  
“Have you ever had a relationship with these dynamics before?” Jean asked.

  
Millie thought back, and whilst her sexual history was certainly varied, she couldn’t say she had experienced anything quite along these lines. There was a man, once, far too old for her when she was barely eighteen, who expressed an interest in tying her up, but the thought had repulsed her and she had clearly demonstrated as much in her facial expression. It was funny how that same idea, when she let herself fleetingly imagine Jean in his place, felt really quite different.

  
“No. But I’m a quick leaner,” Millie said, tapping her cigarette on the saucer she had been given to use as an ashtray.

  
“You don’t need to tell me that, dear,” Jean replied knowingly.

  
She caught Millie’s eye and Millie felt herself blush a little. She could feel the potential in it. The groundwork was already there, she had spent years working to demonstrate her cleverness, to get things right. This, of course, hadn’t been for Jean, but the very fact that Jean had been there made it a comfortable transition. “I suppose not,” she said.

  
“Well, before we do absolutely anything else, we need a safe word. If I do anything you don’t like, for any reason at all you just say it and I’ll stop immediately,” Jean said.

  
“Why would we need that? Surely you’re not into anything _that_ far off the beaten track,” Millie said.

  
“One woman’s pleasure is another woman’s nightmare,” Jean said. “Did you know some people can’t achieve orgasm without sucking another person’s toes?”

  
Millie made a face. “I’d vaguely heard of it, but how had _you_?” she said.

  
“That’s immaterial, it’s just one of the many reasons it’s necessary.” Jean said.

  
“I concede,” Millie said, experimenting with using the language Jean seemed to want. “How do we choose one? Presumably ‘harder’ is a bad choice?” she said, mock-innocently, accompanying her words with a flutter of her eyelashes.

  
Jean took a moment before replying, time during which Millie would have loved to have been able to read minds. “It should be something short and memorable, and not easily confused for anything else,” she said.

  
Millie thought about it briefly. “What about ‘enigma’?” she suggested. It’s perhaps a little inappropriate, but we’re not likely to forget it.”

  
“I don’t suppose it matters too much, given that no one else will ever know about it,” Jean said. “Enigma it is.”

  
Silence fell over the room. Millie watched as Jean picked a piece of fluff from her skirt, apparently unbothered by the fact that nothing was happening.

  
“So now what happens?” Millie asked, impatient.

  
“Well, if it goes well tonight, I’ll expect you at the same time each Saturday, barring a reasonable excuse,” Jean said.

  
“Oh, I-,” Millie said, slightly taken aback by how matter-of-fact Jean had been. “I meant now.”

  
Millie thought Jean seemed entirely unaffected by her misunderstanding.

  
“Whatever we want to,” Jean said. “What do you want, Millie?”

  
Millie tried quite desperately to think of something to say that wasn’t just ‘ _Right now? You_ ’. “I don’t know, limitless cash without having to speak to my family?” she said flippantly.

  
Jean frowned. “It won’t work if you’re like this,” she said.

  
“It won’t work if I have my personality, you mean?” Millie asked. “I might as well bloody leave now then.” She stubbed her cigarette out against the saucer, although she had no intention of getting up.

  
“Oh, there’s always been more to you than answering back, you just don’t like other people to know it,” Jean said.

  
“You’ll never prove it,” Millie said playfully.

  
“I think I will,” Jean said, with a stern intonation that changed the mood of the room again. “Should I tell you what I think you want?”

  
“Be my guest,” Millie said, a little nervously.

  
“You want direction. You want someone else to take control of your decisions,” Jean said calmly. “You miss Bletchley because you miss never fully being responsible for yourself.”

  
Millie swallowed and nodded.

  
“I didn’t need you to tell me that I’m right, dear, but I appreciate it regardless,” Jean said. “I think we should start small.”

  
She learned towards Millie just a little, but enough that the younger woman almost instinctively closed her eyes, but she then leaned back against the settee.

  
“Do you have a favourite shade of lipstick?” Jean asked.

  
Millie frowned. “Yes,” she said.

  
“What’s it called?” Jean said.

“‘Raven Red’, I think,” Millie replied.

  
“And how does it make you feel, when you wear it?” Jean said.

  
Millie remembered the first time she bought that particular shade, just after the War from a shop on Oxford Street. She had been weeks away from leaving for her travels, and she still associated putting it on with that feeling of promise, of limitless possibility, rather than of endless, unstructured days stretching out ahead of her as she had a tendency to experience life since she had returned.

  
“Free,” Millie said.

  
Jean stood up so quickly that Millie was afraid she had said the wrong thing, that she had somehow broken the rules of the game.

  
“Excellent,” she said, heading towards the door. “Wear it when you come and see me next week.”

  
Millie, still not entirely sure that she hadn’t ruined it all before it had really even begun, stood up and moved towards Jean. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  
Jean smiled. “It’s perfectly fine, dear,” she said. She leaned in towards Millie and brushed a few loose hairs behind her ear, her fingertips just briefly touching Millie’s cheek. “Good girl.”

  
When the door closed behind her and Millie walked out, dazed, she took a few minutes to recover herself in the hallway, convinced that Jean must have been able to hear her heart beating from there but powerless to do anything about it.


	3. Three

_Bletchley Park, 1941_

Jean was just settling down with her copy of _Orlando_ \- she had read it too many times to count, but it seemed a fitting tribute in light of the recent news of Mrs Woolf’s death – when there was a knock at the door. She set the book down on the coffee table and got up to answer it, and was surprised to see Millie Harcourt on the other side of it. She wasn’t sure who she had been expecting, because, quite frankly, it was unusual for anyone to call on her after dinner, but if she had been required to guess this wouldn’t have been someone near the top of the list. 

The younger woman was a force of nature, consistently late and undisputedly the most likely to question her authority, but alongside these questionable traits she was bright and warm and witty and Jean couldn’t help but like her. She wasn’t _scared_ of Jean like so many of the girls were, which made her much easier to communicate with, even if she did wish that a bit less of that communication involved going to fetch her back in after she had taken _yet another_ unauthorised smoke break. 

They had reached something of an unspoken understanding and Jean generally relied upon her a little to speak on behalf of the other girls, to give honest feedback where it was required (and, if she was honest, on many occasions where it w _asn’t_ required), but their relationship hadn’t moved beyond that of workplace allies, hence Jean’s confusion at finding her at her door. 

“Miss McBrian,” Millie said. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” 

“That’s quite okay, dear,” Jean said. “How can I help?” 

Millie looked to either side of her and her face made a kind of apologetic grimace. “It’s a little sensitive,” she said. “Would it be okay if I popped in for a moment or two? If it isn’t any trouble, of course.” 

Jean stepped aside so Millie could come in, quickly closing the door behind them. “Is everything alright?” she said. 

“Yes, sorry,” Millie said. “Everything is fine, I am just rather after a favour.”

“Go ahead,” Jean said. 

“You see, it’s Emily’s birthday tomorrow, and it’s her first away from home,” Millie explained. “So, a few of us are planning a little do for her. Nothing extravagant, of course, but just something.” 

“Carry on,” Jean said. 

“And the thing is, I know Hut Two is usually only for use at the weekends but we – I – thought perhaps, as it’s a special occasion, you might be able to organise making an exception?” Millie said. 

“It’ll just be much nicer than squashing everyone into one of the dorms, you understand.” 

“So you want me to organise for you to get a group of my girls overexcited and possibly drunk when they are working the next day?” Jean said.

“Oh, there needn’t be alcohol,” Millie said quickly. “I was more thinking homemade lemonade and a poor attempt at a birthday cake.” 

Jean looked down at Millie, quite unable to pinpoint what it was which made her feel so utterly swayed by the woman. 

“Against my better judgement,” Jean said. “I will see what I can do. But I want you to make sure everyone knows they are expected to be sharp and ready to work as usual the following morning, or it’ll be my head on the block for allowing it.” 

“Thank you, Miss McBrian,” Millie said. 

Jean found herself quite unexpectedly pulled into a hug, which, whilst not strictly breaking any rules, was not the done thing. 

“Sorry,” Millie said.

“It’s quite alright dear,” Jean said. “Just don’t make a habit of it. I can’t have the other girls knowing I’m actually human.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Millie said. “Oh, are you reading _Orlando_?” 

Jean followed the direction of her gaze, having temporarily forgotten she had left the book somewhere visible. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of reading it, per se, but the novel did carry certain _rumours_ with it, the likes of which she wasn’t in any hurry to have people here attach to her own life. 

“I am,” Jean said simply. 

“Lucky you, it’s marvellous. Terrible news about Mrs Woolf, of course,” Millie said. 

“A real loss, that’s for certain,” Jean said. 

There was a moment of silence between them, in which Jean took the opportunity to properly take in Millie’s features; her pale skin a contrast against reddish hair and bright red lipstick and dark eyes. She was undoubtedly a very beautiful woman, but Jean couldn’t say, with the constant chaos that accompanied Millie wherever she went, that she had properly 

“Well, I shan’t keep you from it any longer,” Millie said, jolting Jean from her observation. “Thanks again, about the party. The girls will be so pleased.” 

“That’s quite okay,” Jean said. “Mind you let them know about not over-tiring themselves.” 

“Of course,” Millie said, making her way back over to the doorway. “Goodnight, Miss McBrian.” 

“Goodnight, dear,” Jean said. 

She closed the door behind Millie and went back to her book, in something of a lighter mood than she had been in before the visit. 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the Millie/Jasper bromance begin!

_London, 1948_

Millie had not kept in close contact with her friends from school. She found that too much time spent with them felt like holding up a mirror to the parts of her life – most notably the unearned privilege she had received – that she couldn’t comfortably assimilate into who she really was, and who she wanted to be. Plus, without the shared structure of school, they lived lives she couldn’t recognise or relate to, and vice versa. She could no more connect with the news of a third baby and a new kitchen than they could to, for example, the prospect of a burgeoning sexual affair with a female ex-colleague. She supposed, on some level, that they reminded her of what she could have been, if only she were a fundamentally different person.

However, one thing that could be said for the aristocracy, and her old school chums in particular, was that they were persistent. She had briefly seen a few of them before her travels, having lunch as a group shortly after the end of the War, as many of them theorised about when their beaus might return from overseas, or how they planned to _get_ a beau returning from overseas, whilst Millie politely explained again what little she could about her ‘clerical work’ and tolerated the looks that suggested it all sounded a little bit below her. Laura, an unassuming-looking but deceptively confident woman, was the one who tended to do most of the organising, and she had insisted on taking the number for the phone in the hallway of Millie’s building, in spite of her insistence that she would write as soon as she was back in London. On her return, Millie had heard from the girl who sublet her flat that Laura had called every few months whilst she was out of the country, each time pleasantly repeating the message for her to write when she got home so they could catch up. It was admirable, really. Laura had been quite delighted when on the most recent occasion she phoned Millie had picked up and been able to receive her invitation to a gathering to celebrate Belinda’s birthday and, of course, to tell them about all the wonderful things she had seen.

Millie couldn’t say she had been looking forward to the event exactly, but it was something to do which demarked one day from another, and she had always especially liked Belinda. All of the girls had been different then, more like her, but Belinda had been a bit of a kindred spirit – the class clown, and a bit of a rebel. They had shared a kiss in their boarding school dormitories once, Millie remembered fondly. It had been soft and chaste, her first kiss with a girl outside of a game of Truth or Dare, in which it was socially acceptable to peck one another on the lips in a way which was clearly _supposed_ to be scandalous but to Millie mostly just felt rather boring. The kiss with Belinda had taken place in their shared dormitory, whilst the rest of the school were out on the grounds watching a game of lacrosse, the two of them having avoided (they had avoided being shooed out by a teacher checking the rooms by briefly hiding in Millie’s wardrobe). Millie had taken the opportunity of having an empty dormitory to have a leisurely smoke (an activity which was certainly against school rules, but was rarely policed unless a girl was specifically caught in the act) and Belinda had watched her, eventually saying: “I like how your mouth looks when you do that.” The kiss was longer and more intense than the ones she had shared with other girls during games, but unfortunately significantly shorter than the ones she had been subjected to on the few occasions she had tried it with boys, which seemed very unfair. She and Belinda had been close for a little while afterwards, and Millie had thought perhaps their relationship would develop, but there had been no more kisses, no matter the efforts Millie had to make her lips look as appealing as they had that day. 

Belinda was married now, of course. If she was honest, Millie found it very hard to care enough to keep track of how many offspring each of the group had, but she knew Belinda had at least two. She tried hard not to trace her life through the people she had thought were _like her_ – bold and queer, in some unchangeable kind of way – who turned out not to be, but it was hard not to sometimes. There were a whole host of them, of which Susan Havers was merely the most recent, although that fact was hardly a comfort.

The party was at a hotel off Regent Street, about as close to a different world as it was possible to get from The Spinning Wheel, the slightly shabby, deliberately unremarkable-looking place she had bumped into Jean the other day. (She had thought of Jean as she had put on her lipstick earlier. She was wearing something different to the Raven Red, and she wondered what Jean would make of the shade. Then she wondered why thinking about that caused the very slightest feeling of arousal.) The hotel bar was flashy, and full of equally flashily dressed guests. Someone had made (or rather, Millie suspected, someone had hired someone to make) a string of bunting, with the letters of ‘Happy Birthday Belinda’ sewn onto each of the triangles. 

“Millie, darling, I’m so glad you could make it!” Laura said, before Millie was fully in the room. She approached and they exchanged kisses on both cheeks. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Millie said, feeling herself, already, slip into the kind of speech she loathed to hear from herself. It was okay when she was with _others_ , and she could use her accent and these kinds of vague pleasantries almost ironically, but here, it made her feel anxious that these words were exactly what she was, and all that she was. 

“She’ll be so delighted you’re here, it’s been such a long time,” Laura said. “Let’s get you a cocktail.” She gestured to the waiter, a man with very short, dark hair and a moustache. 

“Thank you,” Millie said, taking a glass off the tray. 

“That’s quite okay, miss,” the waiter said. He had a hint of a Liverpudlian accent and gave her a broad, slightly cheeky smile, unlike what Millie was used to experiencing in a place like this, which endeared her to him. 

“Come, Millie, and see the others,” Laura said.

Millie found herself pulled by the arm to the other side of the room, away from the waiter who she was genuinely tempted to ask to join her for a game of cards. When they reached the group, all standing in a circle and chatting quietly, Millie was greeted with several simultaneous shouts of excitement. 

“Millie Harcourt, oh my goodness!” 

“The wanderer has returned!” 

“We’re so charmed to have you grace us with your presence!” 

(The last one reminded Millie of the unrivalled ability of rich people to say very rude things but honestly intend for them to be taken as a compliment.) 

“Hello, everyone,” Millie said, with a somewhat exaggerated version of her genuine smile. “I brought you a gift, Bel, it’s just a little something.” 

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” Belinda said as she took the offered box from her. 

“I know, but I wanted to,” Millie said, with great effort stopping herself from rolling her eyes at the falsehood of the exchange (it would certainly not have been acceptable for her to turn up without a gift). She pushed herself to refocus and enjoy the occasion for what it was.

The next couple of hours passed in a whirlwind of champagne cocktails and cigarettes (Millie found there was rarely anywhere she enjoyed chain smoking more than in a fancy hotel in a fancy dress) and questions about her travels. (“Tell me about Morocco, darling, I’m dying to know”, “Did you really do the whole thing by yourself? That’s _ever so brave_ , although, I suppose you always have been,” “Did you see The Pyramids? A friend of mine, her husband is with the Foreign Office and she went to Egypt, she says the whole place is unbelievably wonderful”.) She enjoyed the process of telling stories. She had always been good at holding court in this way, ever since she was a child, and it was easy and comfortable conversation for her.

“It was incredible, honestly girls, you must all see some more of the world if you get the chance,” she said. 

“What I do find quite amazing though,” said a voice, and Millie looked up to see Catherine, who had once tackled her so hard with a hockey stick that she couldn’t walk properly for a week, speaking. “Is that you went all that way and you still didn’t find yourself a man.” 

Millie laughed in a vaguely good-humoured way. “There’s clearly not one who meets my high standards, not in over fifteen different countries,” she said. 

Catherine also laughed. “Seriously though, darling, is there really no man at all?” she asked. 

Millie was reminded of conversations with her grandmother, a quite forceful woman who was very passionate about the continuing of the Harcourt line who would often, during her visits, make Millie promise to tell her when she got herself a gentleman friend. Millie was fond of her grandmother, admired her spirit and drive, and leaned heavily on the idea that she was being genuine in her promise – if she did find a gentleman friend, she would certainly tell her. 

“There really is no man at all,” Millie confirmed. She imagined the reaction to her saying ‘ _There’s middle-aged librarian who I recently found out knows about foot fetishes_ , _but there is no_ man’ and had to stifle a laugh. 

“That is quite wonderful, as it happens,” Catherine said, beaming.

“Oh yes, how so?” Millie asked, deeply hoping she wasn’t about to be asked to babysit.

“You remember Laura’s brother, Richard?” Catherine said. 

“Of course,” Millie said, a smile pasted on her face as she predicted where the conversation was going.

“Well, he’s going to be joining us shortly, I think you’ll really get on. He’s a little younger than you, but really most of the eligible men are going to be these days,” Catherine said. 

“I’m sure it will be delightful to be reacquainted with Richard, although I certainly hope none of you have raised his expectations with regards to me,” Millie said, knowing full well that they would have done. That was another thing the rich were good at: shameless meddling in the lives of others. 

“Oh, give him a chance,” Catherine said. “I’m sure you’ll like him.” 

“It’s not a case of whether I’ll like him, it’s-,” Millie was cut off by Catherine shouting across the room in greeting. 

“And here he is,” she said. “Welcome, Richard. This is Millie Harcourt, our lovely adventurer friend we were bending your ear about over lunch the other weekend.” 

“Miss Harcourt,” Richard said. 

Millie knew this was her cue to say ‘Millie’s fine, really’, but she didn’t.

She very quickly established, after the gaggle of women seemed to have decided that there was something very interesting they needed to look at on the other side of the room, that Richard Barnes was perhaps the most boring man she had ever met in her life. He worked in banking, which was not a great start. Millie could understand the appeal of having money, certainly, one needed it to live, but a job that merely centered on the _moving around_ of money was of no interest to her. It was certainly not only of great interest to him, but was something he expected would automatically be shared by another person, a fact that was demonstrated by his talking about it without a break for almost twenty minutes straight. He had been stationed in France for most of the War, although he was sent home with an injury a little before VE Day (“All fixed up now, nothing to worry about,” he told her jovially). When she tried, for entertainment’s sake, to speak a little French to him he had been quite at a loss. (“I haven’t done any of that since school, I’m afraid, which was a little longer ago than I would care to admit.”) He was proud to have served, and had heard that, she, too, had been involved with the War effort. (“Clerical work, wasn’t it?” he said. “It’s not quite the same of course, but you must be very proud nonetheless.”) He enjoyed going to rugby matches and playing cricket. He was fine, she supposed, in the scheme of things; he was handsome enough if you were into that, and he didn’t seem to be _deliberately_ patronising, at least not any more so than men seemed to be routinely trained to be. He would probably make some girl quite moderately content, but it was taking all of her restraint not to shout with frustration or, at best, just walk away wordlessly, leaving him chattering on to himself about his very important job and his dull hobbies.

She had just noted that her patience had worn down to nothing, not at all coincidentally when Richard had started to talk about politics (clearly working on the assumption that she didn’t have much a of a clue) when she became aware of someone standing behind her. She turned around to see the waiter.

“Can I help?” she said, only vaguely registering the fact that Richard was still talking at the same time as she was, having not noticed she had turned around.

“Yes. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Miss, but there’s been a problem with your coat,” the waiter said.

“A problem with my coat?” Millie questioned. The first thought in her mind was that she must have left it in the cloakroom with copies of everything she had ever worked on at Bletchley spilling out of the pockets and she was about to be arrested for breaching the Official Secrets Act, but she was able to brush that off quickly. She couldn’t help but assume that she was guilty in situations such as these, mostly because she usually was.

“Yes, I just need you to come with me a minute,” the waiter said.

Millie was sure she caught the most barely perceptible of winks. She knew that by following this man she could be trading a predictable, albeit boring situation for an altogether less predictable one, but something about his manner made her feel safe, and she trusted her own judge of character, most of the time.

“Yes, of course,” Millie said.

As she moved to step forward, Richard put his arm out to stop her.

“Would you like me to accompany you?” he asked.

Millie put a hand on his arm and manufactured a winning smile. “That’s a kind offer, really, but I shan’t be long,” she said.

She followed the waiter out of the bar and into the cloakroom.

“What appears to be the urgent problem with my outerwear?” Millie said, as they stood amongst the racks of coats.

The waiter shrugged. “Nothing that I know of. I can’t rule anything out, of course, but I don’t even know which one is yours,” he said.

Millie raised her eyebrows.

“It just looked like you could do with getting out of there for a bit,” he said. “Smoke?”

“In here?” Millie asked. 

“Why not?” he responded. 

“Well, I’m sure your employer could give you a number of reasons why not,” Millie replied. “Plus, I have no idea who you are. You could be just as dull as the man you just took me away from.” 

“Jasper,” he said, holding out his hand for Millie to shake. “I promise I’m not boring.” 

“Oh, they all do,” Millie said. “The most boring ones most of all.” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Jasper said. 

Millie knew that Jasper’s words, from almost any other man, would be flirtatious, but she didn’t get any sense that it was his intention.

She took a cigarette from the box he was holding out and then accepted his offer of a light. “So, what are you then, other than some kind of rescuer of perceived damsels in distress?” Millie asked. 

“I don’t see why I should need to be more than that, it’s a big job you’re talking about,” Jasper said. 

Millie laughed. “Being a waiter is a means to an end rather the real mission, then?” she said. 

“Something like that,” Jasper said. He gestured towards a couple of chairs in the corner of the room. “Would you care to sit whilst we finish these?” 

Millie was amused enough to agree. “Have you got an ashtray around?” she asked. 

“I just tend to use the pockets of the coats of the ladies I like the least,” he said. 

Millie laughed in surprise. “I’m beginning to be unsure about whether you are in fact the most frightfully bad employee or if you don’t really work here,” she said. 

Jasper smiled. “Which one are you leaning towards?” he asked. 

“It’s impossible to say at this point,” Millie said. “I need more evidence.” 

They smoked in relative silence for a minute or two, Millie watching whilst Jasper made a show of attempting to blow smoke rings. When she was finished, she stubbed her cigarette out on the arm of the chair and handed it to Jasper, who promptly deposited it, along with his own, in the pocket of a rather expensive-looking fur coat. 

“You still could just be very bad at your job,” she said. 

“What if I said we could just leave now and head for the drink over the road?” he said. 

“Potentially explainable as the actions of an irresponsible employee,” Millie said. “Besides, if this is your way of trying to get a date out of me you can certainly think again.” It still didn’t _feel_ as if he was flirting, but it seemed important to set a firm boundary. 

Jasper put his hands up in front of him. “Not to worry, sweetheart, I know The Spinning Wheel is more your style,” he said. 

Millie frowned. “What makes you say that?” she asked. He seemed nice enough, but even she, with all her recklessness, accepted that there were reasons to be worried about a stranger knowing that kind of information about her. There were only really two types of men who would know the name of a local lesbian bar, and they were either pretty decent or pretty _dangerous_.

Jasper shrugged. “I just have a sense for it,” he said, and then, after a moment, added “And it’s my sister’s place. I saw you there last Friday.”

“Rubbish, I would have noticed,” Millie said.

“I was out the back,” Jasper said. “Anyway, you wouldn’t have paid attention to me, not the way you were carrying on with the lovely Jean.”

“We were certainly not _carrying on_ , she’s an old friend,” Millie said, somehow feeling quite determined to protect Jean’s reputation. It was one thing for people to know she was queer, but quite another, Millie imagined, for them to know anything at all about her sex life.

“Sorry, sorry, my mistake, I thought it was something more,” Jasper said, and Millie got the sense that he meant it genuinely. “She doesn’t often chat much beyond pleasantries, and Mary says she’s still caught up on a girl from the War, so it was a source of interest to the lesbian rumour mill that she spent the whole evening speaking with someone.”

“The lesbian rumour mill?” Millie said, raising an eyebrow.

“I possibly made it sound grander than it is,” Jasper said. “I meant that Mary mentioned it to Dotty after closing.”

Millie laughed. “I like to be talked about, at least,” she said. “I feel pretty sure Jean does not. She’s a private person.” Even if she didn’t already know Jean well enough to know that, she would have done at the mention of Jean’s secret Wartime love, about which, even with the relative informality between them at times, Millie had not even received a hint. She wondered briefly who it might have been and quickly settled on either another of the supervisors – perhaps the warm, sturdy-looking woman, a little younger than Jean, who was in charge of Hut Five, or short one with the frizzy hair who looked after Hut Six - or a civilian. With lots of other people, it would be easy to imagine it being one of their girls, but Jean was far too principled to break the rules like that. She wondered what happened, how Jean was left pining for this woman in shabby bar in London. She wondered if perhaps Jean too had made plans for after the War with another person and found herself living them quite alone, and felt a tug of empathy. “What has any of this got to do with you, anyway, and indeed what has it got to do with why you’ve lured me into the cloakroom it’s becoming increasingly clear you have no authorisation to be in?” 

“Nothing whosoever,” Jasper said. “I just didn’t want it to come out further down the line that I already knew.” 

“Further down the line of _what_?” Millie asked. 

“I think we should go into business together,” Jasper said. 

Millie laughed. “You’ve just met me, you don’t know anything about me, not really,” she said. 

“I know enough,” Jasper said. “I know you know about this world, and these people,” he gestured to the area outside the cloakroom, “That you look like them but you’re not like them. And that really makes you the ideal business partner.” 

“What’s the business?” Millie asked. 

“Import-export,” Jasper said, gesticulating vaguely.

“I’m all for being relaxed but I am going to require a little more clarity,” Millie said.

“I have... ways... of procuring things that are hard to come by, the kind of things these sorts of ladies want,” Jasper said.

“And where do I come in?” Millie asked. 

“You’d be front of house,” Jasper said. “Women don’t want to discuss their underwear purchases with me, for some reason.”

“It’s a hard life,” Millie said.

“It’s the very worst of my problems,” Jasper said. 

Millie laughed. “So, there are stockings, what else can you get?” she said. “Just offhand, I know a lot of girls who would pay quite a pretty penny for a new shade of lipstick and some scent.”

“Now you’re talking. I knew you’d had the brain for this,” Jasper said. Millie shot him a confused look and he added “I’ve been in this game a long time; I know what to look for.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls,” Millie said, raising her eyebrows.

“Only the best,” Jasper said.

They laughed together and Millie was surprised how genuinely at ease she felt with him. He was a smooth talker in his own way, but he was also very much openly himself, a fact which had shone through even as he had been engaged in his performance as a waiter. It made her trust him, enough to consider going through with his frankly ludicrous proposal.

“And where would I sell?” she said.

“Places like this, really,” Jasper said. “We would go along to some parties, you’d do your posh girl thing, make them feel at ease, tell them you can sort them out with whatever little luxuries they’ve been missing. You take the orders and get a cut.” 

Millie laughed. “I honestly don’t know which of us is more unhinged – you for bringing a stranger into a cloakroom at a hotel you don’t even work at to ask her to go onto business with you, or me for being willing to agree to it,” she said. 

“Does that mean you’re in?” Jasper questioned. 

“I suppose it does,” Millie said. She held out her hand and they shook on it, which felt strangely formal for a decidedly informal situation, but also somehow necessary. “I really should get back in there,” Millie said. 

“After you, my lady,” Jasper said. 

After agreeing to meet Jasper at The Spinning Wheel later that week, Millie made her way back into the bar, finding that the sense of unease she had previously felt had lifted rather than being compounded by her entry into black market sales. She thought, perhaps, that it sat better with her to think of herself as a kind of undercover agent – from but not of this world.

Pleasingly, Richard seemed to have decided that chatting her up was a lost cause and was talking with a woman Millie vaguely recognised as the younger sister of another of the group. She had another champagne cocktail and spent the rest of the evening chatting much more contentedly with her old friends.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut starts here, folks! No additional tags/content notes that I can think of for this chapter, though.

_London, 1948_

On Saturday, Millie found herself reflecting on irony of the situation – the fact that she was getting ready to go to Jean’s to receive discipline when the previous day she had agreed to sell black market goods with a man she had just met – though she supposed that one just demonstrated the necessity of the other.

She took her time preparing herself. She had set her hair the night before, but she still found plenty to do the next day; bathing and carefully selecting her outfit, cleaning her favourite patent leather heels and topping up her nail varnish, recognising on one level that it was unnecessary to go to such an effort and that it seemed highly unlikely that Jean would even take a glance at her shoes, but nevertheless finding it felt important that she looked and felt well turned-out.

Millie realised she had given quite little thought to what was actually going to _happen_ when she arrived, decorated as she had been asked. Based on her feelings in response to Jean’s brief moments of dominance the previous week, as well as the way her body reacted as she applied the layer of Raven Red to her lips, knowing she was following Jean’s instructions, she was keen to find out. That eagerness was a little tempered by a fear of being out of control, unused as she was to being on the back foot in any situation, but she reminded herself that was the beauty of the whole thing and that, aside from anything else, she knew she could trust Jean.

It was raining out so she decided to take a taxi there, a luxury she certainly couldn’t afford but decided to take on the strength of her new reason to be optimistic about money and her desire to not turn up looking like a drowned rat. As she darted from the car to the door of Jean’s building, she felt a small splash of water against one leg of her trousers but otherwise managed to avoid the worst of the weather, so she looked almost exactly as she had planned when she knocked.

“Very nice,” Jean said, as she appeared in the doorway of her flat, her eyes darting to Millie’s lips.

Millie felt the low level of arousal that had been present in her body since she had dressed ramp up a little at that look from Jean, and she found herself replying “I aim to please.”

“I’m glad,” Jean said, in the tone that she had used at the end of their first conversation at the bar. “That will come in very useful indeed.”

There were a few moments of silence as Millie made her way into the flat, hanging up her coat on one of the hooks.

“Would you like a drink?” Jean asked, once they were both settled on the settee, the bottle and two glasses on the coffee table in front of them.

“You know me, I never say no to a drink,” Millie said.

Jean poured from the bottle before replacing it on the table and passing one of the glasses to Millie.

“Cheers,” Millie said. “To tonight.”

“To tonight,” Jean repeated, and clinked her glass against Millie’s. “How has your week been?”

“Largely unexceptional – I got told I wasn’t qualified enough for several jobs that I could do standing on my head,” Millie said. “I did go to my friend Belinda’s birthday party though. That was... rather mixed.”

“That sounds ominous,” Jean replied.

“Not really, I just -” Millie had made the decision after very little deliberation that she was certainly _not_ going to be telling Jean about Jasper and their deal, knowing full well that she wouldn’t approve, but it didn’t feel especially comfortable to lie to her, even by omission. “It was nothing really, my friends from boarding school tried to set me up with this truly boring man, you know how it is.”

“I don’t really, dear, neither the boarding school nor the set-ups, but I don’t feel like either are any great loss,” Jean said with a wry smile.

“I’ll agree on the set-ups with dull men, but boarding school had its moments, and not just in being away from my parents,” Millie said. “Are you really saying you’ve never been forced to talk to some awful man who had clearly been given the impression that you might marry him?”

Jean laughed. “When you are _like us_ , there are number of ways to play one’s cards. Myself, I’ve chosen the ‘old maid who couldn’t get a man’ approach, and my distinctly average looks meant I hardly got bothered even when I was considered to be of marriageable age,” she said.

It was Millie’s turn to laugh. “Jean, you make it sound like you’re about _ninety_ ,” she said.

“I would hope so, that’s the impression I’m trying to give,” Jean said, leaning into the back of the settee. “That’s my way, just a plain girl, no suitors to speak of, threw herself into a nice little office job and before she realised it was too late and she was destined to be a spinster forever, sitting at home with her knitting of an evening.”

“Well, I know for a fact you’ve had more admirers than you know about,” Millie said.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “And how exactly would you know that?” she asked.

“Oh, the hearts that broke at Bletchley over Miss McBrian,” Millie said.

Jean scoffed. “Rubbish,” she said. “I would have noticed. I notice, with women.”

“Not when half of them didn’t even know what it was, sitting forlorn in their digs because you’d scolded them for some small thing or another, thinking they were just disappointed in themselves, not seeing any more to it,” Millie said. “I was once privy to a really rather lengthy conversation about your hair after you wore it down one Sunday, all these girls talking about how thick it was, how very beautiful you looked. Emily Jones talked for some time about how much she wanted to touch it.”

“Ridiculous,” Jean said.

“I have to say, at the time I was more of an observer of the fan club than a member,” Millie said. “I think because I knew you, a bit.”

“Charming, dear,” Jean said. Her tone was dry, like she was joking, but she didn’t quite meet Millie’s eyes.

“I just meant -,” Millie started. “It was schoolgirl stuff – hero worship – with them, whereas we would actually talk.”

“Feel free to keep digging,” Jean said.

“What I was trying to get to,” Millie said, shifting in her seat and crossing one leg over the over, giving just the briefest flash of her thigh as she moved. “Is that I’m beginning to understand what they saw.”

“I think you are biased because you know what I can offer you, dear,” Jean said.

“What is attraction if not biased?” Millie said, not moving her eyes from Jean’s as she took a sip of her drink.

Millie felt the tension between them edge up a little more as they looked at each other. After a few moments, Jean took the glass from her and put it back on the coffee table.

“Enigma, remember? If I do anything you don’t like?” Jean said.

“Don’t worry, I trust you,” Millie said. On seeing Jean’s raised eyebrows, she spoke again. “I remember.”

There was a shift in Jean’s presence. Millie watched her sit up a little straighter and calmly rest a hand on each of her thighs as she surveyed the room, and even the subtle difference in the other woman’s demeanour layered upon her already building arousal.

“How did it feel, putting your favourite lipstick on for me?” Jean said. Her speech was slower and more deliberate than usual; it wasn’t seductive, exactly, but it had the same effect.

Millie found that her mouth was dry. “Good,” she said.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “Fourteen years of private education and all you have to say is ‘good’? No wonder the country is in ruins, if this is the state of the supposed elite,” she said. “Try again.”

Millie was taken aback, both by the uncompromising nature of Jean’s words and the way that the sternness of her voice made her stomach flip. Her usual instinct when challenged was to fight, but she found that instead she just wanted to be _better_.

“It felt amazing,” she said, drawing out the syllables of the last word a little for emphasis. “I liked knowing I was making myself look how you wanted me to.”

“You liked that you were doing something to please me?” Jean said.

“Oh, very much,” Millie said, the natural rasp in her voice accentuated by her arousal.

Jean nodded. She got to her feet and reached out, tilting Millie’s chin upwards to see her standing over her. “Good,” she said.

Millie, finding herself looking up at Jean, sighed contentedly.

“Did you think about anything else, whilst you were doing it?” Jean said, cupping Millie’s cheek with her hand.

“I wondered what you might ask me to do with my lips,” Millie said. “I thought about where they might leave lipstick prints.”

“That is interesting,” Jean said appraisingly, brushing her thumb across Millie’s face and down towards her ear. “Where did you hope you might leave them?”

“Oh, everywhere,” Millie said.

Jean rolled her eyes before fixing her with a sharp glare. “Be specific, girl,” she said.

Millie gasped and moved a little in her seat, feeling wetness in her knickers. She couldn’t put her finger on what was appealing to her about this, it was quite inexplicable and absurd - feeling like this about Jean McBrian, standing in front of her wearing a pleated skirt and a cardigan she had probably owned since before Millie was born - but it was certainly _working_. “On your cheek,” she said.

Jean nodded for her to carry on.

“And down your neck, and over your collarbone, to your breasts,” Millie said. There was something fundamentally strange to her about referring to Jean's breasts, but the thought of running her lips over them, leaving behind the evidence of her service to her, made her shake with need.

Jean herself was clearly affected also, taking a deep breath in before she spoke again. “And after that?” she said.

“Across your stomach, over your hipbones,” Millie said. “And to the inside of your thighs.”

“And I suppose you have plans for after that, too?” Jean said.

Millie had no idea how she could be this turned on just _talking_ about something, but nevertheless it was the case. She liked how this was set up with the premise of Jean having the power, but that actually, in this moment, she was to some extent in control. “I thought about burying my face between your legs, tasting you, having you pull my hair,” she said.

Jean briefly closed her eyes. “You certainly do have an active imagination,” she said.

“I’ve often been praised for it,” Millie said.

“I can see why,” Jean said. She leaned forwards and kissed Millie on the forehead. “Well done.”

There was a moment or so where Millie really thought it was going to happen, that she going to be on her knees in front of Jean, pleasuring her with her mouth. Then she saw Jean’s expression change.

“The unfortunate thing is that certain privileges have to be _earned_ , Millie,” Jean said. “If you’re very good today I might let you have a kiss.”

Just like that, Millie’s sense of control was gone, and somehow being _denied_ what she wanted felt even better than the thought that she might get it. Suddenly, her whole body felt alive and all she wanted to do was fuck Jean with her mouth and the knowledge that she wasn’t allowed, didn’t know when she would ever be allowed, was quite exquisite agony.

Millie moaned deeply, and Jean smiled.

“Can you be good? I do hope so,” Jean said. “I would love to kiss these pretty lips.” She ran her thumb very lightly over Millie’s bottom lip, careful not to smudge the lipstick.

A great rush of arousal ran through Millie. “I can,” she said.

“There’s a lot of evidence against you, girl,” Jean said. “It doesn’t seem likely, especially when you’re so desperate to be touched.”

Millie pictured herself as Jean must have seen her, flushed red to match her lipstick and fighting to manage the throbbing in her underwear. “I can be good. I can do what you ask,” she said.

“Good,” Jean said. “I want those lipstick prints on my neck.”

Millie nodded and moved to get up. Jean stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“You will wait until I’ve finished giving my instructions,” Jean said sternly. “You will approach me when you are asked to.”

Millie only realised she was supposed to have responded when Jean spoke again, prompting her.

“Do you understand?” Jean said.

“Yes,” Millie said. “Yes, Miss McBrian.”

She had added the formal address as an afterthought, half as a joke, but it didn’t feel at all like a joke when something like a whimper escaped from Jean’s lips.

“Thank you,” Jean said, once she had calmed herself. “I want those lipstick prints on my neck, but you’re not to touch me with your hands, just your mouth. Understood?”

“Yes,” Millie said.

Jean gestured for Millie to get up and she did so eagerly, her breathing erratic as she approached the other woman. She linked her hands behind her back so she was less liable to break the rules by accident (there was no way of accounting for impulsive, deliberate rule breaking on her part, but she could mitigate the risk of accidents, at least). As she ducked her head to move in, she found the entirely mundane scent of Jean quite intoxicating – she smelled exactly like herself, with just the faintest trace of soap. At the first touch of her lips to Jean’s skin she moaned, the vibration of which caused Jean herself to moan. She pressed her lips firmly, holding them in place, and then pulled back a little to inspect her work, the Raven Red imprint she had left behind. She gave a few more slow, deliberate kisses, and then got bolder and less concerned about smudging and placed several more in quick succession, up to Jean’s throat and back across to behind her ear. As she did so, Jean reached up and tangled a hand in her hair – she didn’t pull, but the action was certainly intended to demonstrate that she could if she so chose, and Millie sighed at the feeling. As she carried on kissing her, Millie was aware of the feeling of Jean’s breasts moving with each breath, couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to reach out and touch one, to feel a nipple harden under her fingertips, and she cried out into Jean’s neck.

“Enjoying yourself, dear?” Jean asked.

Millie looked up at her, breathless, sure that her lipstick was smeared across her face. “Very much so,” she said.

Jean let go of Millie’s hair, allowing her to stand up straight.

“Do you think you’ve been good enough for me to touch you?” Jean said.

“I’m sure only you can determine that,” Millie said. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she added “Well, or God, but I’m not sure he would handle an enquiry of this type.”

Jean raised her eyebrows. “Let’s not bring Him into it just now,” she said. “I think I should check how well you have done.” She took a few steps to look in the mirror above the fireplace. Her fingers ran over her neck, identifying several distinct marks. “Very good,” she said, returning to stand in front of Millie. “I think you definitely deserve to be touched. How should I do it, I wonder?”

It was clearly a question she was asking herself, but Millie decided to answer it anyway.

“Oh, anything,” she said. “Any way you want to do it, I just need it.”

“Well, I knew that much already, dear,” Jean said, with a small laugh.

Jean kept her waiting for a few moments more and then all of the ceremony and teasing leading up to it somehow vanished when it came to them to the first intimate touch, for which she simply slid her hand flat against Millie’s belly, under the waistbands of her trousers and her knickers, until she could press two fingers against her clit. Millie shuddered and started panting immediately as Jean rubbed in tight, merciless circles, occasionally dipping a little lower to gather wetness.

“I can feel how much you wanted this, girl,” Jean said, dragging her fingers back up in a movement that made Millie shudder and cry out. “I still think I would like you to tell me, though.”

“I wanted it so much,” Millie said, bracing herself against Jean’s shoulders and gasping as she felt her fingers resume the pressure on her clit. “I’ve been thinking so much about having you touch me and oh, _fuck_.” She tensed.

Jean stilled her fingers. “Are you ready to come?” she asked.

“Yes,” Millie rasped. “God, yes.”

“Who are you coming for?” Jean said.

It took Millie a few seconds to process the question enough to answer. “You,” she gasped out. “It’s for you.”

Jean smiled. “Good girl,” she said, pressing a kiss to her neck.

Millie felt Jean pinch her clit between two of her fingers, a movement which pulled a strangled cry of surprise from her mouth, followed by a longer, lower one as she came. She put her weight more fully though her arms, leaning against the other woman whilst she regained the feeling in her legs.

Jean slowly extracted her fingers from Millie’s underwear, letting the wetness trail a little onto her stomach, and then presented them in front of a still hazy Millie.

“You’ve made quite a mess,” she said, although her tone was already quite a lot softer than it had been.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we,” Millie said, her voice a little shaky.

Not breaking eye contact with Jean, she pulled her fingers up to her mouth and slowly sucked them clean, revelling in the little noises Jean made as her lips and tongue worked.

“Gorgeous,” Jean said, using her other hand to cup Millie’s face and, when her mouth was no longer occupied with her fingers, reaching up to kiss her.

To Millie, the kiss was both sexual and almost sweet, a method of sharing her taste and a tentative display of affection. Their tongues briefly touched and Millie felt as well as heard Jean's moan before the other woman pulled away and led her back to the settee. They settled close to each other, their thighs touching and their fingers half-linked.

“Bloody hell,” Millie said, after a moment or two. “Who knew you had that in you?”

“I have to say I’m rather relieved you enjoyed yourself, it has been a while,” Jean said. “I was a little concerned I might have lost my touch.”

“Well, you most certainly have not,” Millie said, reaching for her cigarettes.

“It really must be like riding a bike,” Jean said.

Millie laughed. “Have you ever actually ridden a bike?” she said. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I can hardly imagine it.”

“I was a child, you know,” Jean said, getting up and returning a few seconds later with a saucer which she passed to Millie. “And, before you say anything, yes they do have bikes in Scotland.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that you all lived in caves, funnily enough,” Millie said, tapping ash off the end of her cigarette into the saucer.

“It’s hard to know with you South East England types, considering you think anything beyond the Watford Gap is the North,” Jean said. “Shall I put a kettle on?”

“Please, I’m gasping,” Millie said.

“It’s thirsty work, behaving yourself,” Jean said, heading over to the stove.

“Truly exhausting, it’s so against my nature,” Millie said, sprawling out across the settee to use the freed-up space. She was surprised at how easy this felt, for Jean to have had a hand in her knickers just a few minutes before and for them then to be chatting quite normally about tea, not exactly as if it hadn’t happened, but that it hadn’t changed anything, at least not in a way which made conversation difficult.

When Jean brought the tea tray over Millie gratefully received her cup. She watched Jean glance at her spread out and take a seat on the armchair instead.

“How long _has_ it been?” Millie said, putting out her cigarette and starting on her tea. “When you said it’s been a while, did you mean since you’ve had sex in general or since you’ve done _this kind of thing_?”

Jean raised her eyebrows. “Millie Harcourt, are you trying to ask about the girls I’ve bossed around before you?” she said.

“I’m not asking for details!” Millie protested, although she was certainly interested in details and had attempted the line of questioning partly to see if she could find out any more about her mystery wartime woman “Just if, you know, _there have been any_.”

“There have been some, although more by happy accident than by design,” Jean said. “What makes you ask?”

“You know I’m insufferably nosy,” Millie said. “Besides, I think I’m well within my rights to be interested in what your credentials are.”

“I think my personality is a good start,” Jean said drily. “It has taken years to perfect this stern demeanour.”

Millie laughed, really no better informed by Jean’s responses but entertained, at least.

When the tea was finished and it was time for Millie to go, they didn’t part with a kiss but they did share a warm, full hug.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your lovely comments so far! <3
> 
> Enjoy the developing Millie/Jasper bromance chaos.

_London, 1948_

As Millie opened the door to The Spinning Wheel, just after opening time the following Friday, she could hear shouting coming from inside.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you thousand times, Jasper – I don’t want any of your dodgy dealings going on in here,” the voice, that Millie could only assume was Mary’s, said. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about.”

“Well, we will do if you insist on bellowing our business for the whole street to hear,” Millie heard Jasper say, in a lower voice.

The other voice, although still clearly speaking in an angry tone, quietened enough that Millie could no longer work out what was being said.

“I’d give them a minute, love,” said a voice behind her.

Millie turned around to see the woman she had met in the doorway during her first visit.

“I had thought that might be best,” Millie said with a small smile.

“They’ll be done with their domestic soon enough,” the woman said. “You smoke?” She was wearing a shirt and braces and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of the breast pocket.

Millie nodded. “Thanks,” she said, taking one from the box as they wandered a few steps from the doorway.

“I don’t think I introduced myself before,” the woman, speaking at the same time as she fumbled with a match to light her cigarette. “I’m Dorothy; long-time patron turned semi-official venue security.”

Millie laughed. “I’m Millie,” she said.

Dorothy nodded. “What’s it short for? Am I in the presence of a Millicent?” she said, offering Millie a light.

“I’ll never tell,” Millie said. “At least, not without a _significant amount_ of alcohol, or decent blackmail material.”

“Well, hopefully we can get started on the first one shortly,” Dorothy said, nodding towards the bar.

“Nice try,” Millie said. “I’m actually here to meet Jasper, this time.”

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. “Lucky you,” she said. “No, that’s not fair. He can’t help it.”

“Can’t help what?” Millie asked.

“Being a man,” Dorothy replied, with a wink. “Speak of the Devil.”

Millie glanced up to see Jasper stepping out of the doorway, looking a little sheepish.

“I’ve always preferred The Two Horses, anyway,” Jasper said, and Millie recognised the name of a pub on the next street. “Much nicer management.”

“I guess that’s where we’re going, then,” Millie said. She turned back to Dorothy. “Nice to meet you again.”

Dorothy raised a hand. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

“I see you had a chance to get better acquainted with the lovely Dorothy,” Jasper said as they set off.

“You’re not a fan of hers?” Millie said quizzically, inhaling from her cigarette.

“Nah, Dotty’s alright, to be fair,” he said. “She just takes rather too much joy in refusing me entry sometimes.”

Millie laughed. “When she describes herself as ‘semi-official’, does that just mean she doesn’t always get paid?” she said.

“Got it in one,” Jasper said. “That, and she was never actually hired. She just took the job upon herself.”

“She seems like quite the character,” Millie said, dropping her cigarette to the floor and stamping it out.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jasper replied.

There was a brief silence before Millie spoke again.

“It sounded like you were having a pleasant afternoon chat with your sister,” she said.

Jasper shook his head. “She’ll calm down, she always does,” he said. “She’s really paranoid that I’m going to get caught and that we’ll have coppers and all sorts hanging around the place, but she underestimates me. I’m very good at what I do.”

As in their previous conversation, Jasper’s tone as he talked of his skill was one that from almost any other man outside her family Millie would assume was flirtatious, but from him she sensed little more than a desire to tell it like it was.

“I bloody well hope you are,” Millie said. “That’s the understanding on which I’m getting involved with this.”

“And she’s always acting like I’m the only criminal in the family, as if she’s not breaking any laws by doing what _she_ does,” Jasper said.

“I think that’s rather different,” Millie said. “Plus, it isn’t actually illegal for women, Queen Victoria-”

Jasper cut her off. “Yes, I know all the rules, thank you,” he said. He lowered his voice. “My sister owns a queer bar, you know.”

Millie laughed. “It doesn’t mean you listen to her,” she said.

“I’ve haven’t had much choice,” Jasper said, gesturing for Millie to go first into their new meeting place. “It’s just been us since I was a boy, she basically raised me. I didn’t have anyone else to listen to.”

Millie furrowed her eyebrows. “What happened to your parents?” she asked. She knew she was overstepping, but felt comfortable enough that Jasper wouldn’t take offence to her directness.

“You should consider a career as one of those head doctors,” Jasper said straightforwardly. “Do you want a drink?”

“Gin, please,” Millie said.

“Just like your friend from north of the border,” he teased.

“I have no idea that you could possibly be trying to imply. Lots of people drink gin,” Millie said, gesturing towards the bar to imply that the conversation was over.

She was mostly irritated because the statement made her thoughts turn to Jean, something she had managed to avoid for most of the day after failing to do so for much of the week. It was the tiny details of the encounter she had found herself fixated on; how it had felt to have Jean’s hand in her hair, gently scratching her scalp, how Jean’s voice had sounded when she had given her commands. She felt a little silly, if she was honest, to be thinking of it so much, but it wasn’t like she had a lot else going on in her life and it _had_ been a rather delightful orgasm.

Millie shook her head. There was a time and a place for these kinds of thoughts, even for her, and she didn’t want to be thinking about Jean’s hand down her trousers whilst she was in a dingy old pub full of middle-aged men, preparing to plot with an admittedly very likeable, but nonetheless virtual stranger, how to best convince the society ladies of London to buy their shady stockings.

“Gin for the lady, presented without comment,” Jasper said, placing the glass, along with a whiskey for himself, on the table in a fairly secluded corner of the pub which Millie had chosen.

“Thanks,” Millie said, rolling her eyes.

“Cheers,” Jasper said.

They tapped their glasses together, and Millie was frustrated to find another thought of Jean flashing through her mind, remembering she was the last person she had shared a drink with.

“So, tell me about our plan for taking over the world one delivery of luxury goods at a time?” she asked, in as much of a bid to distract herself as it was a genuine request for information.

“She’s straight down to business, I like it,” Jasper said.

“I’m not going to lie, my kitchen cupboards are looking a little sparse,” Millie said. It wasn’t a fact she felt e _specially_ distressed by, in and of itself - rather, it just felt like a signifier of how utterly she had failed in her attempts at independence from her parents and their money. There was always _a way_ with these things, but still, she would rather not run out of food entirely.

Jasper nodded. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Here are the hotels I think we can work out of. They all have bars which are open to non-guests, live bands at the weekends, that kind of thing. Do you know them all?” he said.

Millie glanced at the list and nodded. “Yes, I’ve been to most of them, they’re pretty popular with the kind of people we want to meet,” she said.

“I know,” Jasper said. “I’m not just a pretty face, me.”

“But a pretty face you are also,” Millie said, gesturing with both hands towards him and laughing. “You haven’t pulled the fake waiter act in any of these places?”

“I refer you to my previous statement,” Jasper said.

“Just checking,” Millie said. “Why were you doing that, anyway?”

“Looking for you, my dear,” Jasper said. “Or at least, someone like you. And the _occasional_ bit of pickpocketing, but that’s a bit too dirty for my tastes really.”

“How very discerning of you,” Millie said.

Jasper shrugged. “You’ll never meet a good criminal who isn’t,” he said. “So, the plan would just be that we go along, I’ll hang around in the background a bit, have everyone assume I’m your put-upon boyfriend or something, and you chat to the ladies, gain their trust and take their orders, along with a room number or another address. I’ll take care of everything else, and you get a 20% cut of the profits.”

Millie raised her eyebrows. “That hardly seems fair,” she said, although truthfully she had no idea whether it was or not. “40% seems much more reasonable.”

Jasper laughed and Millie suspected he knew she was blagging.

“30% of the profit on what you sell, and that’s my final offer,” he said.

“Deal,” she said, with a smile. “So, tell me about the stock?”

“What about it?” Jasper asked.

“Well, is it guaranteed?” Millie asked. “Is there any chance promising something which it then isn’t possible to deliver?”

“It’s usually reliable,” Jasper said. “There are delays sometimes, but it turns up eventually.”

“Where does it come from?” Millie said, interested, as ever, gathering as much detail as she could. “I got a few things from time to time during the War, but I never really knew.”

“Here and there,” Jasper said evasively.

Millie pouted. “I thought we were partners,” she said.

“Trust me, it’s safer that you don’t know, and that they don’t know you,” Jasper said. “Let me handle that side of things.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” Millie said with a frown.

“The people I deal with don’t seem to be, but I don’t intend to find out,” said Jasper. “Which is the argument I keep having with Mary, I wouldn’t do anything that would put her at risk, not seriously.”

“Still, you can’t blame her for being uneasy,” Millie said, feeling a little unsettled herself. She wasn’t naïve, she had known that whilst what she was getting into was certainly a low-level, victimless crime, it was likely that there were some less savoury characters involved in it somewhere along the line. She hadn’t given much thought about the possibility of getting on the wrong side of those people, however.

“Look, I’m not saying there’s no risk at all,” Jasper said. “But you’re queers, you take bigger risks than this every day just by living your lives.”

Millie didn’t know how to tell him that this was about as alarming as it was reassuring, though she couldn’t say he was wrong. “What’s a few pairs of stockings of questionable origin on top of that, huh?” she said.

“Exactly,” Jasper said. “So, you’re still in?”

Millie nodded. “Against the sensible part of me,” she said.

“I didn’t get the impression you had one of those,” Jasper said. “Where do you keep it?”

“Oh, it’s somewhere around my left elbow, I think,” Millie said. “When?”

“Tomorrow night any good for you?” Jasper asked.

“Sorry, it’s not,” Millie said. She scrambled to think of an excuse, not prepared to enter into the conversation about Jean again. “I’ve got plans to see a friend, she’s only in London briefly.”

“Can you not bring her with you?” Jasper asked.

Millie was momentarily distracted by the thought of taking Jean along, indulging herself in a fantasy of Jean dressed up and drinking cocktails, channelling her obvious disapproval at Millie’s behaviour in some kind of _punishment_.

“Not the first time, I’ll need to concentrate on charming the ladies,” she said, blinking the image out of her mind. “I can do Sunday evening?” She looked at the notebook that was still open to Jasper’s list. “Shall we start from the top? The New Hotel is usually busy on a Sunday, and they’ve always got good booze.”

“I knew you were the right woman for the job,” Jasper said. “I’ll see you there.”


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut time! 
> 
> Additional to the tags, this chapter contains discussion of masturbation and also negotiation of consent and boundaries.

_London, 1948_

Millie walked to Jean’s the next time she visited. Although the weather was a little chilly there was no rain, and she hadn’t left her flat all day so she felt she could do with the fresh air. She realised on her journey that she had no real sense of what to expect, having not been given any specific instructions, but nevertheless she was full of anticipation.

“You’re early,” Jean said as she opened the door. “You must be keen.”

“What can I say? You left a good impression,” Millie said, taking off her coat to reveal a knee-length red dress.

“It was certainly very memorable,” Jean said.

She looked her up and down and smiled, and to Millie it was as if she could feel Jean’s eyes on her body.

“Do you see something you like?” Millie asked.

Jean raised her eyebrows, as if amused at Millie’s attempt to steer the conversation. She turned and walked away from Millie, looking up at her again when she was settled into the armchair.

“Did you touch yourself, thinking about our time together?” she asked.

Millie felt herself flush red, aware also of the first – strong – stirrings of arousal.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed dear, I won’t believe you,” Jean said simply.

“Not embarrassed, just surprised,” Millie said lightly, taking a few steps forward until she could sit on the settee opposite Jean, not breaking eye contact with the other woman.

“Then you won’t mind answering the question,” Jean said, with a small smile.

“Yes,” Millie said, drawing the word out a little. “I did touch myself thinking about being with you.”

“Excellent,” Jean said. She leaned back in the armchair. “Tell me about it.”

Millie looked away for a moment and crossed one leg over the other. “What would you like to know?” she asked.

“Everything,” Jean said. “When?”

“Monday night,” Millie said. “I was getting ready for bed after my bath and I remembered what your hand felt like against me, how I was looking forward to feeling that again.”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Jean said, in a tone that made it clear that quite the opposite was true. “But you’re going to be doing all the work this evening.”

Millie felt a hint of wetness with the combination of seeing the look Jean gave her and the thought of what the other woman might have planned.

“How did you do it?” Jean prompted.

"I started with my breasts, I brushed my thumbs against my nipples and when they were hard, I pinched them,” Millie said. Under her dress and her bra she could feel her nipples stiffening, as if echoing what she was saying. “It felt so good.”

She looked up at the other woman just in time to see her bite her lip.

“Then I spread my legs and I put one hand between them, used the other one to keep touching my chest, and _fuck_ , Jean, I was so wet,” Millie said.

Jean let out a little gasp.

“I rubbed in circles, and I thought about how you touched me, and I was ready to let go so quickly,” Millie said. Again, the body mirrored her narration, the dampness in her knickers becoming more apparent to her.

“Very good,” Jean said, a little breathlessly. “How was it when you came?”

“I made a bit of a noise even though I tried not to. I suspect I woke the neighbours,” Millie said. This bit wasn’t _entirely_ true (she was pretty sure her neighbours were still up), but she was so far into the fantasy, and so hooked on saying the things which made Jean react that she didn’t think there was any harm in a small embellishment to the story. “I thought about how it was for you.”

Millie watched Jean close her eyes for a minute.

“Very good,” Jean said. “Come here.” She patted her thighs, indicating for Millie to take a seat in her lap.

As soon as she was settled, Millie felt Jean’s lips on hers. This kiss wasn’t like the one they had shared the previous week, it was hard and fast and Millie could feel Jean’s arousal in it, in the way she moaned into her mouth and had her hands _everywhere_ , eventually slipping under her dress to grip tightly at her backside. Millie met her passion, albeit with some hesitation about where she was permitted to touch, opting for pressing her fingertips into Jean’s upper arms as she kissed her hard.

When Jean pulled away Millie looked down at the other woman, aware that her lipstick was already smeared around her lips (she had worn the Raven Red again, sure of the knowledge that she could have chosen any from her collection but ultimately concluding that it _felt right_ to continue with wearing it for Jean) and waited for her instructions.

“I want you to show me,” Jean said. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

It hadn’t been what Millie was expecting and she hesitated, a little taken aback both by the request itself and the corresponding discomfort she felt (if anything that surprised her more, having always assumed she would be a bit of an exhibitionist, given the chance).

Her pause was not missed.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Jean asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Millie said breezily, knowing her tone was in contrast to the fact that she wasn’t meeting Jean’s eyes. “Where do you want me to-”

She felt Jean’s hand on her arm and looked down to see the other woman frowning, although seemingly with concern rather than sternness.

“I don’t want it if you don’t want it,” Jean said, rubbing her thumb up and down the sleeve of Millie’s dress.

“I don’t know why,” Millie said, in a voice that felt quite distant from her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jean said straightforwardly.

“But you asked for it,” Millie said.

“I did, dear,” Jean said. “But there’s plenty more I can think of that I want you to do. You don’t need to worry about me running out of ideas.”

Millie laughed softly. “I’d never doubt you,” she said. “Thank you.”

“We can stop?” Jean said.

“No,” Millie said. “No, I-” She interrupted herself by leaning forward to kiss Jean. “I want to carry on.”

“If you are quite sure?” Jean said.

Millie nodded emphatically. “Yes,” she said.

Jean’s tone changed again. “In that case, you should know I was very serious when I said you were going to do all the work today,” she said. “I won’t be touching you.”

Just like that, Millie was back in the moment, aware again of the heat flowing through her body.

"You’ll have to find another way to get what you want,” Jean said.

Millie whined and moved against Jean’s lap, thankful when the resulting friction between her legs gave her an idea.

“May I undress a little?” she asked.

Jean appeared to consider it for a moment. “You may,” she said.

Millie disentangled herself from Jean’s lap for as long as it took to remove her stockings and knickers and hitch up the skirt of her dress. Before she sat back down again, she reached for the hem of Jean’s skirt and, after waiting for the other woman’s nod, rolled it up, exposing her stockings and the bare skin of her thighs. When she returned to Jean’s lap she was in a slightly different straddling position to previously, one in which she could move her most sensitive flesh against Jean’s thigh.

“You are a clever girl, aren’t you?” Jean said against Millie’s ear.

Millie knew it was ridiculous – of course she was clever, she knew it, and Jean had known it for years, but something about her saying it in this context made her beam with pride.

Using her arms rested against the chair on either side of Jean to lift herself a little, she started moving, moaning at the feeling of the trail of wetness she was already leaving against Jean’s skin, which she knew was increasing each time her swollen clit made contact with the surface underneath her. She welcomed the feeling of Jean’s hands on her behind, not directing her thrusts (she was taking her promise of Millie doing all the work very seriously), but just _there_ , reminding Millie both that she was safe and that Jean could take charge any time she wanted to.

“How does it feel?” Jean asked.

"Amazing,” Millie said, as she continued to move. “You feel amazing.”

Jean chuckled. “I’m certainly not doing anything, dear, this is all you,” she said. “Tell me something.”

“Mmm?” Millie said, the noise acting both as speech and as a sigh of pleasure. She felt Jean’s thumb trace a line ever so gently up the exposed skin of her thigh before withdrawing again.

“If I was going to touch you now, what would you want me to do to you?” Jean said.

Her tone was almost casual, but Millie whimpered at the sound of the words regardless.

“Oh, is there something in particular you want?” Jean said.

Millie nodded, still rocking her hips, her pleasure building.

Jean tutted. “Words, girl,” she said.

“I - _oh_ \- I want your fingers inside me,” Millie said.

“That would be quite delightful, I imagine,” Jean said. “I suppose you know how you like it?”

“Hard,” Millie said, the thought making her grind even more firmly against the other woman, encouraged by the hitch in Jean’s breath.

“I’ll bear it in mind, certainly,” Jean said. “For when you’ve been very good indeed.”

“Yes,” Millie said, her eyes closed tight as her mind switched between concentrating on the current sensation and imagining the feeling of Jean fucking her.

“Are you going to come against my leg, pretty girl?” Jean said.

Millie moaned deeply. She had felt very aroused, but not aware that she was particularly close, until she heard those words, all the more delicious for being from Jean's mouth. “Oh, God, yes,” she said, moving her hands so they were pressed against the other woman’s shoulders and moving faster.

“I can’t wait to feel it, such a good, clever girl letting go on top of me,” Jean said.

Millie could only cry out in response this time, her hips moving quite frantically now, feeling the pressure in her body building to the point of no return.

“Come for me, now,” Jean said.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Millie said, before she went virtually silent, tipping her head back and biting her lip as her orgasm went through her. “Fuck,” she said again, after a few moments, leaning forwards and resting her face on the top of the armchair.

Jean reached up, pressing her lips a couple of times against Millie’s neck and slotting her fingers into her hair. “Are you okay, dear?” she asked.

Millie murmured against the leather. “I just need a minute,” she said.

“I’ll allow it, although you shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking I’m done with you already,” Jean said sternly, that aspect of her demeanour quite at odds with the comforting circles her left hand was making on Millie’s back.

A few minutes passed as they sat together, Millie still in Jean’s lap, recovering her breathing. Eventually, Millie dipped her head and spoke against the skin of Jean’s neck.

“May I kiss you here?” she asked.

Jean’s breath hitched and there was a pause before she responded. “Yes,” she said.

Unlike the previous occasion, when Millie got to work kissing Jean there was not much lipstick left on her lips to speak of, but it didn’t matter. She mapped the skin just as carefully, though she was leaving no marks behind other than the occasional brief redness from an overzealous suck. As the sound of Jean moaning softly washed over her, one of Millie’s hands was pulled upwards and placed on one of Jean’s breasts, and Millie let out a moan of her own at the feeling of a hardened nipple, identifiable through several layers of clothing.

"Good _girl_ ," Jean hissed, as Millie rolled the palm of her hand over her breast before pinching the little nub.

“I could be even better without your blouse in the way,” Millie whispered, having moved aside the fabric at Jean’s shoulder in order to kiss the bare skin.

“This is more than fine, dear,” Jean said, sighing as Millie’s hands and mouth moved against her.

“Bossy _and_ hard to get is an interesting combination,” Millie said cheekily, letting her tongue trail a little way down the skin running alongside the strap of Jean’s bra.

“Oh, I don’t like to be too predictable,” Jean said, and Millie detected an edge of nervousness in her voice.

“I’d _so_ like to please you. If you would like that, of course,” Millie said, aware of the strange mix of boldness and coyness that being with the other woman brought out in her. “I wouldn’t have to touch, if you don’t want me to.”

To demonstrate, she adjusted her position slightly so she could roll her hips against Jean again, this time pressing herself against the other woman’s knickers. Jean took a sharp intake of breath and nodded, and Millie repeated the movement. She watched Jean’s reactions as she moved, quickly settling into a rhythm which elicited little gasps consistently.

Quite inevitably, Millie found herself getting worked up again, the rubbing of the fabric of Jean’s underwear against her still-sensitive clit making her shudder and soon enough she was chasing her pleasure at the same time as facilitating Jean getting hers.

It was quite fascinating to Millie to watch the small signs of Jean's arousal building, seeing her bite her lip and slightly open her mouth, and she found she wanted to see more of it. Stalling her movement briefly, she unfastened the top few buttons of her dress, allowing her to slip a hand into one of the cups of her bra and touch her own nipple, looking directly at Jean as she pinched. After a moment, Jean leaned forward to push the dress over her shoulders and Millie reached around to unfasten her bra.

“Only if you’re sure you want to, dear,” Jean said.

“I want to,” Millie said.

Soon, Millie was bare from the waist up, palming her own breasts whilst she rolled her hips against Jean, watching the way the other woman moved to meet her, whilst keeping her eyes on Millie’s hands at her chest.

After a few moments Millie felt Jean’s hands move to her hips, this time controlling her thrusts, bringing their bodies together firmly. The way Jean’s breathing had changed to being quick and shallow, as well as the almost desperate way she gripped her flesh, made Millie realise she was close, as it wasn’t long before Jean came with a series of gasps.

Millie continued to watch, using the sight to help her go over the edge again, which she did with a small squeak, this orgasm less intense than the first but pleasurable nonetheless.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Millie said, before seeking out Jean’s mouth with her own.

They kissed softly a few times, and then Millie rested her head on Jean’s shoulder as they both recovered their breathing.

After a few minutes, Jean politely patted Millie’s thighs, indicating that she intended to get up, and as soon as she did, she set about making tea.

“Do you have much planned for the week?” Jean called through from the kitchen area as Millie rebuttoned her dress.

“Getting turned down for numerous waitressing jobs, no doubt,” Millie replied. She adjusted her collar in the mirror and then wandered over to where Jean was waiting by the stove. “Watched pots never boil, is what I heard.”

“A phrase clearly coined by someone with about as much patience as you,” Jean said drily, opening the cupboard for a saucer in response to hearing Millie strike a match. “I am sorry you’re struggling to find work.”

“Me too,” Millie said. “To think, we helped win the War and now I’m spending my days being refused jobs serving tea, never mind being able to look for anything else because everything I’ve done is hidden behind the bloody Official Secrets Act.”

“I do understand, dear,” Jean said.

“I know,” Millie said apologetically. “It’s just... I’m quite sure my brain must be evaporating out of my ears.”

“It’s certainly a relatable feeling,” Jean said.

“I don’t know how you tolerate it,” Millie said.

“It tends to be the case that one does, when there is no other choice,” Jean said. “Tea?”

Millie knew she was being placated, but decided she was willing to allow it.


	8. Eight

_Bletchley Park, 1941_

Jean didn’t look up from her knitting at the sound of the door knocking. 

“Come in, Millie,” she called.

“Is this a bad time?” Millie said. “The door was pulled to.”

“There was a bit of a draught, is all,” Jean said. “Come in.”

She was hoping that Millie would knock anyway, having got used to the younger woman’s regular visits. They had, as time had gone on, become something resembling, not quite _friends_ , but _friendly acquaintances_ , and it was with some regularity that Millie popped in of an evening - in between flitting around the various rooms entertaining the other girls – bringing a funny anecdote or a copy of a newspaper, the crossword completed but for a few clues left for her. Recently, she had brought a piece of what was one of the girls’ attempt at a cake, and enjoyed Jean’s polite but clearly deeply disappointed reaction so much that she had sworn to make a habit of it.

Jean worried slightly about how it might look, whether it might be suggested by others that she was favouring Millie, or that their relationship was somehow inappropriate, but she decided she was being paranoid. It wasn’t _like that_ with Millie, and she was obviously just being sensitive because she knew that for her it could be. No one else in this place, convinced that women were made only to be wives to husbands, would even give the prospect a thought.

Millie took her usual place on the armchair opposite the one Jean was sitting in, casually swinging one of her legs over the other.

“It’s always a great mystery, when I come in here,” Millie said. “As to whether you will be reading or knitting.”

“I do have other hobbies,” Jean said, although it was barely true.

Millie smiled. “How is the scarf coming on?” she said.

Jean held up what she had done so far. “Not too much more to go, I shouldn’t think,” she said. “Although honestly, who knows what my cousin’s girl needs. I never know how to size children, and it’s been years since I saw her.”

“Will you see your family for Christmas?” Millie said.

“Oh no, dear,” Jean said. “I’m needed here, and regardless it’s too far to go just for a couple of days. I’ll pop it in the post for her, I expect it’ll arrive in February.”

“From my little knowledge it seems reasonable to think there would still be cause for a scarf in Glasgow in February,” Millie said.

“You would certainly be right,” Jean replied. “You only get away without having your woollies on May to September, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

“I’ve never been to Scotland at all, actually,” Millie said. “I’ll have to put it on my list for when I go travelling.”

“Lining up plans for after the War already, that is hopeful,” Jean said, raising her eyebrows.

“A girl’s got to have dreams,” Millie said. “Speaking of Scotland though, I picked something up for you when I was in London last weekend.”

Jean looked at Millie to see her holding out a small box wrapped in tissue paper. When she pulled it off it revealed a packet of shortbread biscuits.

“Do I even want to know how you got hold of these?” Jean said.

Millie feigned looking shocked. “I have a cousin who owns a bakery, the transaction was entirely above board,” she said. “I hope you like them, anyway. They are at least guaranteed to be better than the stuff this lot makes.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Jean said drily. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Miss McBrian,” Millie said, getting to her feet.

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Jean said. “And Jean is fine, when we’re not working, of course.”

Millie smiled and nodded. “I’ll use it wisely,” she said. “Good luck with the scarf.”

Jean spent the rest of the evening continuing with her knitting, until she stopped for a cup of tea and one of the gifted biscuits before bed, all the time trying not to think too closely about Millie’s face, and about the way her features changed when she smiled. The effort of doing so clearly pushed the thoughts into her subconscious though, because when she slept, she dreamed of Millie. They were in the room, talking as they had been earlier, but Millie was next to her on the settee and as Millie gesticulated, clearly making an important point, the fingers of one hand brushed against Jean’s thigh. They looked at each other for a moment before, without Jean being aware of who had initiated it, their lips were pressed together in a desperate, grasping kiss. She let her hand slide up Millie’s thigh, but all of a sudden, the door was open and the entire personnel of Bletchley were there, watching with eerily neutral expressions, and then Millie adjusted her skirt, lit a cigarette and was gone.

Jean didn’t remember the dream until the first time she saw Millie the next morning, and she felt a lurch in her stomach made up of a number of emotions she didn’t want to interrogate.

She said good morning quite stiffly, and resolved to keep her door shut tight in the evenings, at least for a little while.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's possible to love my massively fabricated version of Jasper too much, I do.

_London, 1948_

Millie, out of courtesy to Jasper, made a show of speeding up for the last few steps towards him, as she arrived on the steps of The New Hotel almost twenty minutes after they had agreed.

“Sorry,” she said. “Timekeeping has never been a strong point of mine.”

That excuse wasn’t _untrue_ , but it was deliberately vague, given that she certainly had no desire to tell Jasper that she had lost track of time daydreaming about Jean. They had kissed goodbye on the cheek the previous evening, Millie opting to take the lead from the other woman despite her own desires to throw caution to the wind and go for her lips. There seemed to be no question that their relationship was a purely sexual arrangement – the prospect of anything more was a surreal one – and Millie knew she was predisposed to blur those lines, particularly with women of whom she was already fond, and she had been burned far too thoroughly by that tendency to risk it happening again. Still, she supposed there was no harm in _thinking_ about it, aside from the fact that it had made her late.

“Fashionably late, I suppose you call it,” Jasper said.

“Well naturally, I am very fashionable,” Millie said. “Speaking of which, you look the part, don’t you?”

Jasper was wearing smart black trousers with a white shirt, a bow tie and braces, and what were clearly recently-polished shoes.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” he said, encouraging Millie to do a quick spin in her gold dress, in response to which he let out a low whistle.

Millie laughed; genuine, carefree laughter, and felt a warmth in her chest bloom for Jasper. She enjoyed how easy it was to be exactly herself with him.

“Shall we go in?” she said, linking her arm through Jasper’s and leading him up the steps.

After Millie had handed her coat in at the cloakroom they made their way into the room where the band was playing.

“Right, what’s the plan?” Millie said quietly, keeping a smile on her face as she surveyed the room.

“I’m going to get a drink and take a seat in that very comfortable-looking armchair,” Jasper said, gesturing towards the one he meant. “I’ll leave you to charm the ladies. I wouldn’t worry about getting orders today, think of this as about building trust.”

“Yes, right,” Millie said, focussing on channelling her nervous energy usefully. “I can do that.”

She took glass from a tray carried by a passing waiter and stepped into the busier section of the room, where people were crowded around the band which were playing, and positioned herself next to an older woman who was standing on her own.

“They’re rather good, aren’t they?” Millie said, after a minute or so.

“They are,” the woman said, turning her head to face her. “I haven’t seen anything quite this good since before the War.”

“Oh, quite,” Millie said. “It’s easy to see it as minor, in the scheme of things, but people never do seem to discuss the impact it had on the Arts.”

“That’s very true,” the woman said. “I’m Anne, by the way.”

Millie smiled warmly. “I’m Millie,” she said.

She stood and watched until the end of the song before deciding to move on, tapping Anne on the arm and wishing her a good evening beforehand. She felt tentatively pleased with the progress she had made – she was aware that she knew how to charm old rich women, of course, it was amongst a handful of reasons she hadn’t been expelled from boarding school on several occasions - but the possibility of using those skills to make money felt tangible.

As she headed back towards Jasper, ready to report on her networking success, she spotted a woman coming into the room who made her do a double take. She was tall, about as tall as her, with similar colouring. When the woman’s eyes moved towards her, Millie picked up the pace in her haste to get to Jasper.

“Quick,” she hissed. “Stand up, hide me.”

“How’s that going to work, you’re about half a foot taller than me in those shoes,” Jasper said, as Millie pulled him by the arm when he didn’t move fast enough. “You’ve seen someone you didn’t want to, I suppose?” He turned his head enough to glace behind them as Millie looked quite intently into her glass. “In the blue dress?”

“Yeah, oh God, is she coming this way?” Millie asked.

“Absolutely,” Jasper said. “Who on Earth is she that you want to hide from her so badly, an ex-girlfriend or something?”

Millie’s face contorted in disgust. “No, Jasper,” she said. “That’s my bloody sister.”

“Camilla, darling!” said the woman, forcing Millie to turn around and feign a look of surprise.

“Vanessa!” Millie said. “Oh my goodness. Fancy seeing you here.”

Vanessa reached for her and they exchanged kisses on both cheeks.

“I’m in London for the weekend,” Vanessa said. “I would have telephoned but I had no idea you were back,” she said pointedly, following this up with an equally enquiring look at Jasper.

“This is Jasper,” Millie said, choosing to deal with the easier of the two pieces of information requested of her and gesturing towards him. “Jasper, this is my sister, Vanessa.”

“Charmed,” Jasper said, shaking Vanessa’s hand lightly.

“Yes,” Vanessa said in response, still smiling widely. “Could you be a dear and see if you could get me a drink, Jasper?”

Millie rolled her eyes, both mortified and not surprised by Vanessa’s behaviour. She reached out and put her hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “You don’t need to do that,” she said. “She might be the baby of the family but she can get her own drinks.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jasper said.

“Sherry would be just delightful, if you can get it,” Vanessa said.

“Of course,” Jasper replied.

“You are unbelievable,” Millie said.

“What a pleasant man,” Vanessa said, as Jasper wondered off towards the bar. “Were you ever going to tell us you were back?”

“Why, are Mother and Father planning a welcome home party for me?” Millie said.

“Mother and Father love you, Camilla,” Vanessa said.

Millie sighed. She had got on well with Vanessa when they were girls. They were close in age and they weren’t that different, really – they were both stubborn and passionate, they both liked to have fun - it was just that Vanessa had chosen to direct herself towards meeting the expectations of their parents whilst Millie had established that was a game she was destined to lose. Ultimately, though, it hadn’t been Vanessa’s good behaviour at school or her focus on arts and music and other _appropriate_ hobbies that had led them to drift apart. That was much more down to Vanessa’s wilful ignorance to the facts of Millie’s life, no matter how many times she made them abundantly clear.

The issue of her name was the tip of the iceberg, but a representative one. Despite having made her wish to retain her childhood nickname into adulthood known, her entire family had insisted on calling her Camilla since she turned fourteen and was deemed to be a woman. It was behaviour Millie was willing to excuse when it came to eighty-something year old grandmother, but when it was Vanessa doing it, in spite of numerous reminders of varying levels of politeness and the fact that Millie had purchased a necklace with a large letter ‘M’ on it especially to wear to family occasions, it was harder to tolerate.

“They could certainly stand to act a bit more like that’s the case,” Millie said.

“Well, how can they, if you don’t even tell them when you’re in the country?” Vanessa said. “You should come for Sunday lunch.”

“Why would I do that?” Millie said.

“Bring Jasper along with you, it’ll be lovely,” Vanessa said, carrying on as if she hadn’t heard Millie speak. “I just can’t get over how you travelled halfway across the world to end up with a rather average looking man from Liverpool.”

“No,” Millie said, pulling a displeased face. “God, Vanessa, Jasper’s just a friend.”

That was another way in which Millie found Vanessa to be irritatingly like their mother – she was so painfully intent on ignoring the reality of who Millie wa _s_ for the sake of appearances. Vanessa had, throughout their teenage years, caught her numerous times in compromising positions with other women, but the one time she had found her in an embrace with a young man seemed to have erased everything else from her memory. Trying to explain, following Vanessa’s cheerful observation that she was ‘normal now’, that she could enjoy the company of men every so often but that she didn’t want a _life_ with one, had been entirely fruitless. To Vanessa, because Millie _could_ be with a man, in some sense, it was obvious that she _should_.

“Oh, well, I shan’t pretend that’s not something of a relief, he doesn’t seem e _ntirely suitable_ ,” Vanessa said, seeming unabashed when Jasper appeared by her side and passed her a drink. “Thank you, how lovely of you.”

“You practically ordered him to go and get it, it’s perhaps a little over the top to fawn in thanks like that,” Millie said.

“I’m just being polite, Camilla,” Vanessa said, brushing off her comments. “Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, you should absolutely come for lunch some time. I’d love for you to actually meet David before the wedding.”

Millie had forgotten about Vanessa’s engagement. She’d got the news of it whilst she was in Venice, one of the few addresses her family had access to as she was staying at the home of a family friend. It seemed the news had been so unremarkable to her that she hadn’t retained it consciously.

“Plus, Grandmother really isn’t getting any younger, you should be thinking about the will,” Vanessa said with a wink.

It was a terrible thing to say, but also a flash of a version of Vanessa that Millie hadn’t seen for a number of years. She raised her eyebrows.

“If Mother heard you saying that,” Millie said.

Vanessa smiled, her expression showing just a bit of mischief. “We all miss you, darling,” she said.

Millie felt her resolve soften just a little. All talk of wills aside, she had always been fond of her grandmother, and if there was more of this side of Vanessa to engage with then _perhaps_ she could tolerate a few hours of time with her parents.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and then added, in response to Vanessa’s immediately excited expression. “I’m not promising anything.”

The sisters kissed on both cheeks again and then Vanessa gestured towards the friends she had come to the hotel to meet.

Millie looked over at Jasper, who had taken his seat in the armchair again.

“She seems delightful,” he said.

“She has her moments,” Millie said charitably. She let out an anxious breath. “I guess that’s today called off? I can’t try and influence the great and good with my little sister breathing down my neck.”

“I guess so,” Jasper said. “It would be a shame not to stay out for a bit, though, even if we’re not working.”

“Oh, where are you taking me?” Millie said.

“Somewhere cheap, as we didn’t even nearly make any money,” Jasper replied, getting up from the chair.

“Touche,” Millie said, as she followed him out.

Several hours later and about as many more drinks in, Millie looked around the pub and was amused again by how entirely overdressed she and Jasper were compared to the rest of the clientele.

"What are you laughing at this time?” Jasper asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“The whole day, really,” Millie said, attempting to light a cigarette as she spoke. “My bloody sister.”

“It did seem to be a pretty complex reunion,” Jasper said. “By which I mean, she did seem like a bit of a bitch.”

Millie looked at him for a moment and then laughed. “She is very good at giving that impression,” she said. “She’s okay, deep down. Deep, deep, deep down. And when she’s sure our parents can’t hear her.” She exhaled, having finally managed to light the cigarette, and took a drink from her glass.

“How long’s it been since you saw the rest of the illustrious Harcourts, then?” Jasper asked.

“Not bloody long enough,” Millie said, slurring a little, fully aware, even in her somewhat drunken state that it was easier to act like she didn’t care rather than to let the little voice in her head which said _they made you and they rejected you, just like everyone does_ have its say. “I saw a few of them before I went travelling, but most I haven’t seen since before the War.” The only one who had come close to understanding her, aside from Vanessa, was Edward, and he’d made the right call and got away from it all. “There was no one big thing or anything, just the constant awareness that I could never be what they wanted me to be, and that they were disappointed by that. I ran away _a lot_ as a teenager, and eventually I got to the point where I realised I just... didn’t have to go back. So, I didn’t. I’ve seen my parents a few times since – Ness has a programme of roping me into doing it every couple of years, I think – but not often.”

As she spoke, Millie couldn’t help but think of the first night she spent in her flat all those years ago, so excited to have her freedom but so utterly unsure about what to do with it. She couldn’t stop herself remembering crying herself to sleep and wondering if she had made the biggest mistake of her life. She had soon pulled herself together, reminded herself that it was the only way she was ever going to be able to live her life on her own terms, and gratefully seized the opportunities that the War had offered her, but it didn’t stop Millie feeling sad for that young, lost version of herself, with whom she felt she had more than a little in common.

“It was this stuff,” Jasper said suddenly, gesturing towards their glasses. “What you asked the other day, about mine and Mary’s parents. Our father drank to manage being alive, and my mother drank to manage him, and they weren’t good to each other or to me.”

“Oh, Jasper, that’s terrible,” Millie said, feeling distinctly guilty about how much she had gone on about her own, comparatively minor, family problems.

Jasper shrugged. “I don’t remember them much,” he said. “Mary looked out for me just fine. They were living in their own flat, her and Lil, by the time it was clear that I couldn’t stay with my parents anymore, she came to get me from the house one day and we moved down here the next week. Neither of us have heard from them since.”

“I’m sorry,” Millie said.

“Don’t be,” Jasper said, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s made me who I am.”

“The great befriender of lesbians, do you mean?” Millie said with a smile.

“I tend to prefer ‘Defender of the Underdog’,” Jasper said.

“More like defended _by_ the underdog,” Millie said. “I imagine your sister is a force to be reckoned with when she wants to be.”

“Absolutely,” Jasper said. “She always has been. Lillian was as soft as anything, balanced her out a bit.”

“Was?” Millie asked, although she felt sure she already knew the answer.

“She was killed in the Blitz,” Jasper said. “There were some women she had taken in, they were sleeping in the bar – it was her place, you see - and when the air raid sirens went off, she couldn’t find them. They were okay, as it turns out, but she didn’t make it to the shelter in time.”

“That’s so awful,” Millie said. She knew it was selfish, really, to relate the story to herself, but the thing that horrified her above anything else was how it must have felt for Mary, to have found someone she wanted to have a life with, and who wanted the same with her, and to have lost it in such a senseless way. It wasn’t an uncommon experience, she knew, but it felt particularly tragic for people for whom the chances of finding that kind of happiness again were so small.

“It is,” Jasper said.

Millie lifted her drink and clinked the glass against Jasper’s. “To Lillian,” she said.

Jasper smiled a little sadly. “To Lil,” he said, and drained his class. “Now, on that uncomfortably emotional note, I think it must be time to get you home, my lady.” He stood up, the wobbling to keep his balance only somewhat taking away from the gentlemanly action of offering his arm.

Millie laughed and took it, and they headed out into the dusk of the evening, where the street lights were just starting to come on.

“Did you ever play that game when you were a child, the one where you have to avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement?” Millie asked, as they walked along.

“You’re not telling me you were allowed to walk on pavements with commoners?” Jasper joked. “Surely not _Camilla Harcourt_?”

Millie laughed. “Come on!” she said, and started darting along the pavement on her tiptoes, making sure to skip the spaces between the paving slabs.

She stopped and turned around to watch Jasper, who attempted to copy her but didn’t have the same level of dexterity as she did and as such did not pull it off which anything like her grace.

“You’re terrible at this,” she called from a few feet ahead.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Jasper said.

They tried another few rounds during the walk, in which Jasper improved, but not to the point at which he was anywhere near as fast as Millie. When they reached Millie’s street they were both out of breath and laughing.

“Well, I suppose I’ve had worse walks home, but I can’t say I remember them,” Jasper said.

Millie nudged him and hugged him tightly. It was a kind of touch she hadn’t experienced in a long time, masculine but familial, like it used to feel giving Edward a hug as they stumbled home in a quite similar way.

“Goodnight,” Millie said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, unconcerned with propriety as ever, sparing a thought for the neighbours looking out to see them drunk as hell in their gladrags, presuming them about to embark on some kind of sordid affair.

She laughed, and Jasper laughed too, although she had said nothing out loud.

“Goodnight,” he said.

When Millie closed the front door behind her she looked out through the glass to see him walking away.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! There's orgasm denial and some sort of restraint in here.

_London, 1948_

“You are _enjoying_ this, aren’t you?” Millie asked, surprising even herself with the suddenness of the question.

She’d had a busy week, compared to many since she had returned to London, having been out with Jasper a couple more times since the previous weekend. These attempts to make money had not been waylaid by any members of Millie’s family turning up, and she had successfully made her first sale to Anne the night before, having thrown in a mention of perfume during a long discussion about music.

She had planned to go around the cafes near her house asking about jobs again that morning, but she had found herself quite exhausted, and more than a little hungover, and opted instead to have a long lie-in, getting herself out of bed with just enough time to get ready to go to Jean’s.

They were on the settee, kissing, Millie’s arms having been positioned behind her back by the other woman, when she broke away and spoke.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “Is there any part of my behaviour which indicates that I am not?” she asked.

Millie shrugged and took the opportunity to stretch out her fingers. “It felt polite to check,” she said. “I seem to get away with doing very little in our encounters.”

“You do as you’re told, and that’s plenty, I assure you,” Jean replied. “And surely a suitable challenge for you?”

“Oh, more than a challenge,”” Millie said. “It’s just, I would _like_ to touch you.”

“Patience, dear,” Jean said firmly. She nodded to Millie’s unrestrained hands. “I’d rather like to get back to what we were doing, unless you are opposed?”

“No, we can-,” Millie said, hesitating. She frowned. “You know you can ask me for anything you want?”

“Of course, I do, dear,” Jean said, matter-of-factly. “I can do whatever I want with you.”

Millie’s breath hitched. There were many words she could have used to describe Jean. Until recently _manipulative_ hadn’t been one of them, but the way she tapped into Millie’s reactions and played her like a _bloody_ piano to maintain the upper hand really couldn’t have been called anything else. What struck her alongside all that was how very _safe_ she felt despite the power play, how secure she was in the knowledge that Jean doing whatever she wanted with her relied entirely on her consent. That fact made her quite unreasonably aroused, which brought her right back around to reflecting on Jean’s manipulation of her.

Understanding that the conversation was over (and quite unable to carry on talking even if it wasn’t) Millie laced her fingers together behind her back again. She gasped at the feeling of Jean’s mouth on hers, a noise she repeated as Jean’s hand came up to cup one of her breasts through her blouse. The way Jean touched her was, like everything she did, careful and considered, her hand moving slowly and deliberately against her nipple, drawing it to a peak under her palm before pinching it through the material. After some time, she moved her hand to the other side and repeated her action, by which point Millie was having to concentrate hard on following her instructions, not allowing her fingers to break free and touch Jean or direct her action. She let out a little moan of frustration and Jean smiled.

“Maybe this will make it a little easier to manage,” Jean said, faux-supportively, making it quite clear to Millie that her intention was not to help her.

She encouraged her to lie back on the settee, effectively causing her body weight to prevent her from moving her hands. For Millie, the physical weight just added to the emotional pressure of restraining herself, and she cried out in frustration.

Jean continued to move slowly, unbuttoning Millie’s blouse but taking care not to touch any of the flesh revealed below, just skimming the waistband of her knickers as she untucked the hem from her trousers. Millie’s eyes were closed, but as Jean paused, she knew she was looking and could imagine the view of her she had, laid out before her, biting her lip and breathing hard, waiting for her next move.

She gasped at the feeling of Jean’s mouth on her breast, the warmth and the wetness reaching her skin through the satin of her bra. She moved her hips upwards, allowing her to press against Jean’s hipbone and get some small relief to her building arousal. She did this for a few thrusts, in time with Jean’s ministrations at her breast, until the other woman stopped, causing Millie to open her eyes.

“That’s very inventive, dear, but I don’t recall giving you permission to do it,” Jean said, her eyebrows raised.

“I thought my cleverness was one of the things you liked most about me,” Millie said.

“Not when it presents as insolence,” Jean said. “Lay nicely, and be patient.” She very briefly let her voice get a bit softer, and added: “I promise I’ll give you what you need,” before pressing a kiss against the exposed skin of Millie’s belly.

Jean resumed the movements of her mouth, this time flicking her tongue over the hardened point of Millie’s nipple and she did so brought a hand slowly up Millie’s stomach to her other breast, slipping it beneath the cup to tease it at the same time.

“Oh, _Jean_ ,” Millie said, forcing herself against every instinct within her to keep her hands and her hips still.

“Always so eager,” Jean said.

“You wouldn’t know if you weren’t such a tease,” Millie shot back.

Jean’s expression darkened. There was a pause before she spoke.

“For that, you’ll wait even longer,” she said.

Millie watched as Jean stood up, crossed to the armchair on the other side of the room, and picked up a book. As the other woman put her reading glasses on, Millie couldn’t decide if she felt more irritated or aroused, but the two feelings together were a potent mix.

“Until when?” she said.

Jean looked up from her novel, which Millie recognised as the latest Agatha Christie release.

“Until whenever I decide, and longer if you keep interrupting me when I’m reading,” she said.

Millie let out a long, frustrated groan.

“Quiet, girl,” Jean said sternly, though she was looking at the page she had the book open on rather than at Millie.

It was a choice to tolerate it, Millie knew. There was nothing stopping her from doing precisely what she wanted; the only thing keeping her in place was the fact that Jean wanted her to, and (she realised with something of a surprise) she wanted to please Jean more than she wanted to rebel or argue.

She decided to be patient, breathing deeply and trying to distract herself from the ever-mounting arousal ( _how_ Jean could do this to her, render her a panting wreck whilst she sat 8ft away, reading about some very clever but quite improbable murder) by counting the rings the curtains across the room hung from. She got to 40, 20 on each side, and then counted backwards. She wriggled her fingers under her back, entertaining herself with the feeling of numbness.

After what felt like an implausibly long time, Jean looked up.

“Good girl,” she said, with a nod. “I’m very impressed.”

Millie felt a buzz of satisfaction flow through her at those words. She might be floating through her life, quite aimless, her talents might be being wasted in a society that was happy to discard women in peacetime, but she could achieve this: she could be good for Jean.

She stayed silent, and watched as Jean returned her book to the coffee table.

“Undress yourself, and then get back on the settee,” Jean said.

Millie followed her instructions, shrugging off her blouse and trousers, unclipping the fastening of her bra and letting it slip down her arms and onto the floor. When her hands got to the waistband of her knickers, Jean made a noise which made her look up.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Jean said, getting up from her chair to stand in front of Millie. “I’ll do those.”

The other woman moved her hands towards her, hooking her thumbs in the waistband to pull them down, letting the tips of her fingers drag all the way down Millie’s thighs until eventually she let go, leaving her to kick them off. She gestured to the settee.

“Sit down, facing me,” Jean said. “Hands behind your back again.”

Shivering at the commanding tone in Jean’s voice, Millie did as she was told, sitting down and resting her hands behind her back as Jean leaned over her. She watched as Jean leaned forward to kiss her sternum, letting her lips linger there for a few moments before kissing across her skin to take a nipple into her mouth. With that action, the pace changed; Jean took the other one with her fingers, this time touching naked skin, and, as Millie writhed underneath her, she replaced her mouth with her other hand and started a trail of kisses down her body. Jean dropped to her knees and within seconds her mouth was hovering over Millie’s clit, the feeling of her breath causing Millie to cry out with anticipation.

“There are rewards for patience,” Jean said, briefly looking up at her. “Spread your legs.”

Millie whined at the sound of the words and moved quickly, planting her legs on either side of Jean’s body, her hands still at her back. As soon as she was settled, Jean moved forwards again, taking a first, bold lap at her, at which both of them moaned. Quickly, Jean pulled Millie’s legs over her shoulders and slid her hands up to grip her hips, holding her in place as she kissed and licked and sucked.

Millie was torn between one instinct to close her eyes tight and another which was urging her to take in every moment of Jean being buried between her legs, to watch the way her head moved, to see the focussed look in her eyes when she glanced up. She could feel herself getting closer, the frustration of wanting so badly to scratch her nails against the other woman’s scalp only adding to the sensation. She was breathing faster, could feel her thighs involuntarily squeezing around Jean’s head... and then it stopped.

“What?” Millie managed to gasp.

Jean looked up, a smile on her face.

“I’m just reminding you it’s not up to you when you come, dear,” she said.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Millie said, the muscles in her legs twitching from the orgasm she had been denied.

“I can only assume that wasn’t intended to be an instruction, as you don’t get to give those,” Jean said.

She looked down again and began kissing Millie’s thighs in a leisurely way. Millie gasped, her skin feeling so incredibly sensitive. She tipped her head back, an action which was picked up on very soon afterwards.

“I want you to look at me,” Jean said.

Millie breathed in hard with frustration, but moved her head again so she could make eye contact with the other woman.

“What do you want?” Jean asked.

“To come,” Millie whined. “Please.”

“You will,” Jean said. “When I say, you will let go, and not a moment before. Do you understand?”

Millie nodded, but noticed that Jean was still looking at her expectantly.

“Yes, I understand,” she said.

She regretted the agreement as soon as Jean lowered her face to her clit again, the pressure in her body building so intensely that she wasn’t sure she even knew how to stop it.

Jean seemed to sense this and replaced her mouth with a finger. “Not until I say,” she repeated, moving the digit in small circles. “You can do it; I know you can.”

Millie moaned helplessly, the pleasure and the pain of holding it in making her hips jerk towards Jean.

“Almost,” Jean said. “You can let go soon; I promise.”

Millie felt as if her whole body was on fire. She found herself digging her nails into the skin of her back, so ready to fall over the edge. It was just at the moment where she was quite convinced that she physically couldn't take any more when Jean spoke again.

“Good girl. You’ve done so well,” Jean said. “You can come now.”

Millie came with a groan so loud that she was vaguely aware of Jean lunging forward to put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She tensed as waves of pleasure passed over her, before relaxing back against the settee.

Jean got up from the floor and settled on the settee next to her. She tapped the nearest of Millie’s wrists to her to remind her that she could move them, and when it was clear that they were achy from being held in the unusual position, she set about gently massaging them.

“You are good to me,” Millie said, placing a hand on Jean’s thigh and reaching forwards to give her a quick kiss.

Jean looked a little harassed. “I need to have you in good working order, dear, or I won’t be able to continue to have my way with you,” she said, in an almost flirtatious tone that was at odds with her body language.

After seemingly deciding that Millie’s hands had had enough TLC, Jean wondered over to the bookcase, returning soon afterwards with a copy of the _Riverbank Publications_ which she held out to Millie. “I took the liberty of checking this out of the library on your behalf. You may find doing some revision before we see each other next week will come in useful,” she said.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you have in mind,” Millie said. She took the book from the other woman and looked down at the cover. “God, this takes me back. I read these cover to cover, before I took the entrance exam for Bletchley.”

“I’m sure you found that quite unnecessary, given that you have all the necessary natural aptitude,” Jean said.

“Miss McBrian, is that you complimenting me outside of the-,” she gestured towards the settee as she set about gathering her clothes, “metaphorical bedroom?”

Jean pursed her lips. “I’m sure it can’t have been the first time,” she said.

“Perhaps not, miracles can happen more than once, I’ve heard,” Millie said, teasingly, raising her eyebrows. “This reminds me, actually. I heard a rumour that you had a sweetheart during the War, and it’s quite infuriating me that I can’t figure out who it was.”

Jean frowned. “And where might you have heard a rumour like that?” she said.

“Well, I – Mary from The Spinning Wheel, her brother Jasper, we’re friends,” Millie said, grateful for the need to get dressed as an excuse to look away from Jean, not sure if she was more awkward about admitting she had been gossiping about her or evading the whole truth about her relationship with Jasper. “And he couldn’t mind his own business to save his life, basically.”

“You know what they say about rumour mill, dear,” Jean said. “Things get quite distorted.”

“So there was no mystery woman romancing you in secret? No one sneaking in your bedroom window after the end of a long shift?” Millie said.

“No, Millie,” Jean said, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t _think_ so,” Millie said. “But then, as I have been discovering, you are a bit of a dark horse.”

“Do you mind if we skip the tea tonight? I’m rather exhausted,” Jean said.

“Yes, of course,” Millie said, taking her cue to leave. “I do hope I haven’t been inappropriate.”

“When are you anything but inappropriate?” Jean said, yet again quite skilfully side-stepping the actual point in a way which Millie couldn’t help but find admirable.

As Millie made her way down the staircase and out of the building, it was with the knowledge that she had upset Jean, but the awareness that she would probably never know what exactly had bothered her so much.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some lesbian bar escapades!

_London, 1948_

“Change of plan, darlin’,” Dorothy said, as Millie approached the doorway of The Spinning Wheel.

“Oh?” Millie asked, taking time to admire the cravat and waistcoat the other woman was wearing over her usual masculine shirt. Personally, she put a lot of effort into adding little touches to her outfit to allow her to be read as queer by others in the know, but she was impressed by the way Dorothy made it quite unambiguous to everyone and still managed to front it out.

“He’s been summoned, had to go and meet with a supplier,” Dorothy said. “Said for you to have a drink on the house for the wasted journey.”

“Oh, okay,” Millie said. “Well, I never say no to free booze.”

“A very sensible view point indeed,” Dorothy said. “Regardless, I think he needs to take a look at his priorities, going off to chat about nylons when he could be spending the afternoon with you dressed like that.”

Millie smiled graciously. They had agreed to meet at The Spinning Wheel before heading to a hotel that was a couple of streets away, where they had had a successful evening’s work earlier in the week, so she was in one of her best glitzy dresses, in a darkish shade of green. “You know full well there’s nothing like that with Jasper,” she said.

Dorothy smiled mischievously. “More fool him,” she said. “Is there... anyone?”

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to chat me up or get the gossip?” she said, remembering Jasper’s comment about the lesbian rumour mill.

The other woman shrugged. “Either,” she said. “Both.”

Millie laughed. “Well, I am very flattered, but not interested,” she said.

Dorothy held her hands up. “That’s fine, love,” she said. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Absolutely not,” Millie said with a wink.

“And about my other question?” Dorothy questioned.

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Millie said.

“Beautiful _and_ with strong moral compass, be still my heart,” Dorothy joked.

“I certainly wouldn’t go that far,” Millie said.

They shared a little more banter back and forth before Millie excused herself to go into the bar. Despite being entirely truthful when she told Dorothy she wasn’t interested, she felt a bit flushed and giddy from the attention. The satisfaction of being able to flirt with another woman like her, somehow especially if there were no real feelings behind it, always gave her a boost.

With this thought, her mind moved naturally to Jean, and she suddenly wondered about the possibility of the older woman being in the bar. It hadn’t entered her mind when she had arranged to meet Jasper and she realised she perhaps should have considered it. She wasn’t sure if she even _wanted_ Jean to be there or not – she quite liked the idea of Jean seeing her in her finery (she chose not to dwell on exactly _why_ ), but on the other hand it was bound to be a little bit awkward seeing each other in public for the first time since they had started sleeping together, especially if she hadn’t suitably recovered from the tension at the end of their last meeting, not to mention the fact that Jasper would be unbearable if he heard they had spent time together.

When she discovered there was no one there but Mary, she felt just a flicker of something like disappointment, but she quickly brushed it off.

“I’ve heard you got stood up by my little brother,” Mary said.

“He’s a fool, according to Dorothy,” Millie replied, taking a seat on a stool at the bar.

“I’m very sure you didn’t need to take Dotty’s word for that,” Mary replied, with a raised eyebrow. “What do you fancy? I’m going to add the cost of it on to his rent so you may as well make it something pricey.”

“I can pay,” Millie said hesitantly. She was _pretty sure_ the other woman wasn’t being sincere, but regardless of how nice Mary seemed, she also didn’t strike her as the kind of person she wanted to get on the wrong side of.

“I’m joking, love,” Mary said. “As if he pays rent...”

“It did feel somewhat implausible,” Millie said. “I’ll have a gin, please.”

There was a barely perceptible pause and for a moment Millie, used as she now was to being teased by the younger of the siblings, thought Mary was going to mention Jean, but instead the older woman just went about making the drink.

Millie rummaged around in her handbag, quickly finding her cigarettes and matches and setting them on the bar.

“Do you mind?” Mary said, looking down at the packet as she placed Millie’s drink in front of her. “I don’t usually smoke, but the temptation gets the better of me every so often.”

“Be my guest,” Millie said, turning the opening of the box towards Mary after she had taken one out for herself. “You must never be short of them, when you do fancy it.”

Mary shook her head. “Oh, I do my best to stay away from that stuff of Jasper’s,” she said, reaching for the ashtray that was on the bar and pulling it closer to them. “Never want to give the Old Bill an excuse to interfere here.”

“I’m surprised you’re okay with him doing it,” Millie said, holding a match in the other woman’s direction.

Mary shrugged and accepted the light. “My concerns aren’t moral, they’re practical,” she said. “I just won’t risk this place.”

“It obviously means a lot to you,” Millie said.

“It was Lil’s,” Mary said, as if this should be enough explanation in itself, although she carried on speaking. “I assume he’s told you about her?”

Millie nodded. “A little, yes,” she said.

“Then you’ll know she gave her life for this scummy little den of iniquity, really, and I won’t have it taken away over a bit of perfume,” Mary said.

“You must miss her terribly,” Millie said, taking the need to rid to flick the ash from the end of her cigarette as an excuse to look away from her for a moment. She could hardly bear thinking about it, to lose a love of so many years, and to have to mourn privately, receive none of the help anyone in an equivalent situation would have got as, effectively, a widow of the War.

“Oh, every day,” Mary said, with a lightness that did little to conceal her obvious sincerity. “Still, I get to fix up the love lives of half the lesbians of Central London in her honour.”

“I’m sure she would be proud,” Millie said.

“What she would be is on at me to meet someone new, let me tell you,” Mary said, her exhale followed by gentle laughter. “Relentlessly optimistic, she was; she would have no problem believing this old crone could find love again.”

“You sound like Jean,” Millie said. “She barely stops going on about how dreadfully old she is.”

“Well, as I’ve told her before, I’ve got ten years on her and a less desirable accent, so she can certainly give it up,” Mary said.

Millie laughed. “They say age doesn’t matter to the heart, a perfectly suitable companion could walk in at any moment,” she said.

As she finished speaking, she heard Dorothy’s voice from the doorway.

“Any chance of another pint, Mary, love?” she said.

Mary looked at Millie and raised her eyebrows. “I think I’ll stick to matchmaking,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette before turning away from her.

Millie had assumed she would stay for the proffered drink before heading home, but she found that the company and atmosphere in the bar made her reluctant to leave. As the evening went on, the bar got busier, and she spoke a little with various other visitors in between laughing with Mary at Dorothy’s attempts, when she wasn’t watching the door, to play along to the records on the old piano.

She stayed until the room all but emptied again, leaving just the three of them and Jasper, recently returned from his meeting. Mary put another record on and Millie found herself dancing a little tipsily with Jasper, letting him twirl her around in a quite disordered way until she thought she might be sick. She was still a bit dizzy when she got home (again, watching through the glass pane as Jasper left), but it felt like a reasonable trade for the sense of contentedness she felt.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Teasing, finger-fucking, Jean getting off on Millie cracking codes...

_London, 1948_

The first thing Millie noticed, turning to the living room after hanging her coat up, was that the coffee table was pushed a little closer to the settee than usual, making it look a bit like a makeshift desk. There was what looked to be a single sheet of paper, a small notebook and a couple of pencils on top of it.

“Have I interrupted you midway through a spot of rearranging or are you about to make me to sit an exam?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Neither,” Jean said. “But closer to the latter, I suppose. Do take a seat, dear.”

Her tone was curt and formal and until that final ‘dear’, delivered affectionately rather than scathingly, Millie had wondered if the other woman was picking up the atmosphere where they had left off.

“Whatever are you up to?” Millie said as she wandered over to the settee.

“I hope you did your revision,” Jean said, coming to stand just in front of the coffee table.

“Of course,” Millie said. It wasn’t strictly _untrue_ , she had looked a little at the book when she got home the previous weekend and felt confident enough that she remembered a lot of it, a surety that was ebbing away by the second.

She looked up at the other woman, who nodded towards the paper.

“You can look,” Jean said.

Millie glanced down and then back up at Jean. “You are actually going to make me crack codes?” she said.

“Only two,” Jean said. “And I’m not _making_ you do anything; I’m simply saying that I would be very pleased indeed with you if you did.”

She gave a look that went straight to Millie’s clit, her body suddenly warm with arousal.

“You’re an absolute menace, Jean McBrian,” she said.

Jean quirked an eyebrow. “There’s a reward for each puzzle you solve,” she said. “You’ve got half an hour to work on the first one. Let’s see what you can do with that brain.”

Millie frowned as she watched the other woman settle into the armchair. “What are you going to do?” she said.

“I’m going to watch, dear,” Jean stated.

Millie let out a tiny moan and watched Jean’s face break into a smile.

“The timer’s started,” Jean said, gesturing towards the clock above the fireplace.

Millie forced herself to look away from Jean and down to the paper. About half the page was full with text set out in five-character blocks and at first glance it looked as if it was a simple substitution cipher. She didn’t expect that Jean would have been remiss enough to go for anything as guessable as a Caesar or an Atbash cipher, but it seemed necessary to rule it out. She was relieved to find that she could still do the early stages – picking up the letter frequencies to see if they fit with the patterns for either of the common ciphers she was aiming to rule out – quite automatically, as if several years hadn’t passed since she had last sat in front of a document like this at Bletchley.

Even without looking at her, Millie could feel Jean’s eyes on her and she wondered briefly if this was a desire of the other woman’s that she had indulged during the War. It stood to reason that many people, if they had a thing for watching women using their brains, may well have taken a particular kind of enjoyment from a role at Bletchley. She thought about Jean’s mystery woman, if she had existed (it seemed that Jean was trying to hide _something_ \- she had kicked her out without tea the previous week, after all) and imagined Jean watching her work, perhaps the romance even starting because she was noticed doing so, but she soon rejected the idea. Quite aside from the fact that most of the girls were ostensibly straight and/or terrified of the older woman, Jean had, above almost anything else, a deep sense of responsibility, and she certainly wouldn’t have (in her mind) damaged the War effort through engaging in that kind of behaviour during working hours. That in turn made Millie realise that this was perhaps the first time Jean had experienced this in a sexual context, and her stomach gave a little flip.

She was fairly quickly able to rule out Caesar and Atbash ciphers, and started working through other options for shifted alphabets. The only other sound in the room apart from the scratching of the pencil she was using and their breathing was the rhythmic clicking of Jean’s knitting needles. In many other situations she might have found this funny, but she mostly found it infuriating that Jean could be relaxed enough to be bloody _knitting_ whilst she had Millie’s whole body tingling just from the awareness that she was looking at her.

After a little more work, Millie disregarded a structured shift, deciding instead that it must be a mixed letter alphabet. Whilst that was, in theory, a bad sign for a code breaker with only (she looked at the clock) fifteen minutes left to decode a cipher, she felt fairly sure that Jean would be the type to opt for an alphabet based from a keyword, as opposed to an entirely random alphabet, on account of its orderliness. That meant the code could be solve much more quickly if she could guess the keyword.

Drawing together all the information that she could bring to mind about Jean, she wrote out a list of a few words that seemed worth a shot at investigating further.

She didn’t know if she had given some kind of indication that she was on the track to either crack it fairly quickly or fail miserably but the sound of the knitting needles stopped. The atmosphere in the room felt more intense without the noise to break it up, the way the silence signalled to Millie that Jean had her full attention on her again.

Getting back to her list of possible key words, Millie tried ‘Glasgow’ first, knowing that it was probably a bit too obvious to be correct, but unwilling to reject it on that basis. Realising quickly that was wrong, she wondered whether Jean might have used the name of an author and looked at ‘Christie’. That took a little more time to disregard, and she established she probably only had time to attempt one more word. Looking at what she had in front of her, she chose ‘Damson’, in reference to Jean’s homemade gin, and got to work.

Soon, with her decryption starting to form words, Millie knew that Jean was going to see her succeed. The knowledge that she would please her, and imagining how she might be rewarded for that, briefly distracted her from her task and left her very aware of her arousal. She pushed herself to focus and continue filling in the letters despite the way her hardened nipples brushed almost painfully against the lace of her bra.

When she was about halfway through the decoding the message it became clear to her what it was (the opening of _Mrs Dalloway_ , quite reasonably, Millie thought, cut off just before the first mention of Peter Walsh, a character she really didn’t care for) but she nevertheless persevered, suspecting Jean would require her to see it through to completion.

“Done!” she said, a few minutes later, putting the pencil down on the coffee table with a sense of achievement. “Lucky I know you like booze.”

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Jean said. “Such a clever girl.”

Millie had that quite nonsensical rush of feeling as the first time Jean had said those words. She didn’t need Jean to tell her she was bloody clever, but _goodness_ did it feel wonderful when she did.

“It has been remarked upon,” she said, when she had gathered her voice enough to speak without it shaking.

“I’m not surprised,” Jean said. “Take your knickers off for me.”

Millie heard a helpless little whine and took a few seconds to realise it had come from her mouth.

“Yes, Jean,” she said, briefly taking a moment as she removed her underwear and placed it under the coffee table to consider the absurdity of how easily she found herself bending to the other woman’s will.

“You may sit, again,” Jean said.

Following her instruction, Millie watched the other woman cross the room and take a seat next to her. She closed her eyes and let out a breathy sigh as Jean trailed a hand up her thigh.

“Such a good girl,” Jean said, pressing her lips to Millie’s ear. “I think I will put my fingers inside you, would you like that?”

Millie felt her stomach drop and her clit throb at the prospect. “Oh, fuck, yes,” she said. “Please.”

“Good,” Jean said. She pushed her hand up higher and brushed against Millie, opening her up. “It feels as if you are almost ready for me. It rather looks that way, too.” She held up her fingers in front of her, the tips coated with slickness.

Millie instinctively leaned towards them but waited for Jean’s approving nod before taking them into her mouth, enjoying the little sounds of pleasure the other woman made as she did so.

Almost as soon as she had given a last flick of her tongue to Jean’s fingers, the other woman’s lips were on hers, pressing insistently. Millie gave a squeak and returned the firmness, remaining focussed on kissing Jean back even as she found herself pushed backwards so she was half laying on the settee, Jean propped up on her elbow, looming over her. There was a moment where they just looked at each other, and Millie (in a thought she knew she would later reinterpret to obscure its actual meaning) realised that Jean, with her stern expression and flushed cheeks, was quite startlingly beautiful.

After the brief pause, Jean wasted no time in giving Millie her promised reward. Millie felt a hand move down her body, stopping briefly to grasp at a breast, rolling her palm against a stiff nipple in a way which made her arch. She felt Jean’s hand then run over her belly and to the waistband of her skirt, the other woman briefly moving up to her knees to hitch up the material before reaching down to kiss her as her fingers dipped into her wetness again.

“ _Yes_ ,” Millie sighed, at the feeling of Jean’s fingers on her clit. Her touch was gentle, and certainly only intended to make sure she was properly ready, but she could feel her thighs starting to tremble, a sure sign that an orgasm was not far away.

“Don’t you dare,” Jean said forcefully, evidently noticing the same thing.

She made a mental note to tell Jean another time that all but _growling_ at her not to come was statistically unlikely to have the requested effect, given that it sent a jolt of arousal through her that, had Jean not removed her fingers, would have almost certainly tipped her over the edge.

“Calm yourself, girl,” Jean said, looking straight at Millie’s face as she pushed a finger inside her, quickly adding a second.

Millie knew this action of Jean’s was just as nonsensical as her last, but she was too distracted by the sensation of the other woman being inside her to form a sarcastic internal monologue. It was something she resented putting so much significance on (mostly for fear of her enjoyment being attributed to the proximity of the act to sex with a man), but there was something she found deeply satisfying about being fucked, and with Jean the feeling was nothing short of exceptional. She cried out as the other woman started to move, quick and shallow strokes at first but then holding onto one of her hips so she could go deeper. She was so _delightfully_ full, and could feel the muscles inside her starting to contract around Jean’s fingers before the other woman had even curled them to massage the sensitive spot inside her. She felt Jean bringing her other hand down on her backside; it wasn’t _strictly_ a slap, but it was enough like one to intrigue her and to add another little element which made it entirely impossible for her to hold on any longer.

She moaned loudly as she came, her hips continuing to move up to meet Jean’s thrusts for the duration. She shut her eyes at some point, and when she opened them it was to see Jean looking undeniably pleased with herself (or pleased with _her_ , the possibility of which made Millie shudder with an aftershock).

“Good girl,” Jean said, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead before withdrawing her fingers and getting up, leaving Millie laying there in a post-orgasmic daze.

Millie heard the tap in the kitchen area run for a little while, and then be switched off again. When Jean returned into view, she pulled herself into a sitting position to make space for her on the settee.

“Is the kettle on?” she said.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “You’ve got another puzzle to do yet,” she said. “We don’t do half-time drinks here.”

Millie had forgotten, quite understandably, that they discussed cracking _codes_ rather than a code, and made a displeased face.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” Jean said. “But I can tell you the reward is quite worth your while.”

Millie frowned. “Is this one easier or harder than the last?” she said.

Jean looked as if she were considering the question. “Both, in different ways,” she said.

“What does that even mean?” Millie said, frankly far too frazzled to deal with the other woman’s teasing.

Jean opened a drawer in the coffee table and pulled out another page of ciphertext, laid out the same as the previous one. She placed it on the table in front of Millie.

“Well, it’s a Caesar cipher,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“What do you-?” Millie started, before it dawned on her.

“You’ve got thirty minutes, but that really should be plenty,” Jean said pleasantly, looking up at the clock before moving to place a kiss on Millie’s neck.

The kiss was enough to reignite Millie’s desire, as well as to confirm to her that she was having sex with perhaps the most irritating woman in existence. She moaned and looked down at the paper, trying to focus on the task. Jean was right to say that knowing it was a Caesar cipher meant that, at her best, she would have been able to crack it in less than ten minutes, but she had admittedly never attempted it after one orgasm and whilst being teased towards another one. (Susan’s record for cracking a Caesar cipher had been five minutes and 50 seconds, but they had never taken ciphertext into the bedroom so Millie had no way to know how she would fare under similar conditions.)

She started looking at the letter frequencies as Jean started to unbutton her blouse, physically impeding her as well as distracting her.

“This really isn’t fair,” Millie protested, her voice dissolving into a moan as Jean’s hand found a nipple.

For the next few minutes, she worked whilst Jean gently brushed her hands over her breasts, just enough to get her sighing, and then withdrew them, leaving her frustrated both by the lack of stimulation and the lack of progress she had made with the cipher.

By the time fifteen minutes had passed, she had narrowed it down considerably, despite Jean’s hand creeping up her thigh. She had made little effort to readjust her skirt after she came, and hadn’t replaced her knickers, so the patterns the other woman was tracing on her skin were getting ever closer to where she was now aching to be touched again.

“You’re getting there, clever girl,” Jean praised.

“It’s not bad considering the absence of blood in my brain,” Millie said, trying hard to continue concentrating on the paper as Jean’s had reached the top of her thigh.

“Oh, come on, we worked under more pressure than this at Bletchley,” Jean teased.

“Quite different pressure, though,” Millie said. “Imagine the implications if it had been like this.”

Jean laughed softly and brushed her thumb against Millie’s clit.

“Fuck, Jean,” Millie said, tipping her head back.

“You’re almost there, you can do it,” Jean said, moving her thumb in wide circles.

Millie had never imagined when she had been perfecting her code-breaking skills, that she would one day decode a Caesar cipher whilst being pleasured by a former superior. She supposed stranger things had happened to her, but not that she could think of offhand. She deciphered enough of the text to know that her solution was definitely correct, and then put down the pencil, finally allowing herself to surrender to the feeling of Jean’s touch.

“Well done,” Jean said, speaking against Millie’s ear in between kissing her neck and shoulder. “Do you want to know what your reward is?”

Millie nodded, angling her hips to try to get more pressure on her clit from Jean’s hand.

“It’s your choice what we do next time,” Jean said, dipping her hand lower to gather more wetness before touching with more purpose.

She wasn’t whether she had subconsciously had it in her mind before or if the delightful surprise of Jean’s hand on her arse cheek earlier had been a trigger which made her think of the idea for the first time, but regardless, there was no question of what she wanted to ask for.

“I want you to spank me,” Millie blurted out. “Please.”

She watched Jean take a deep, clearly steadying breath, her fingers on Millie’s clit temporarily stilling.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve never thought about putting you over my knee,” Jean said.

Millie let out a moan which she couldn’t attribute to a single cause, Jean’s words having sent a shiver through her at the same time as her fingers resumed their movements.

“I’ll assume you like the sound of that, seeing as you are quite inarticulate at the moment,” Jean said. She pressed a kiss to the side of Millie’s neck and quickened her speed. “Come, now.”

Her tone was almost flippant, like there was no point in using her commanding voice on a task as easy as getting Millie to have an orgasm, and Millie was quite sure it made her come harder. Even as she keened and groaned, she couldn’t help but admire the diversity of the other woman’s tactics.

As she leaned against the back of the settee, closing her eyes as she recovered her breathing, she felt a delicate brush of a thumb against her cheek, followed by a kiss in the same place.

There was a moment of stillness before Jean spoke.

“ _Now_ it’s time to get the kettle on,” she said.

Millie, her eyes still closed, smiled.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and for all your comments so far, I'm delighted people are enjoying the story!
> 
> This chapter is briefly smutty, it includes a description of masturbation.

_Bletchley Park, 1942_

Jean had always prided herself on her self-discipline, but that was lacking, it seemed, when it came to Millie Harcourt. 

For several months she had kept the door to her room closed most evenings, allowing the odd day free for Millie to drop in should she wanted to for the sake of not necessitating any kind of discussion about it. She did come by sometimes, with a copy of _The Times_ and once, a novel she had been sent by a relative that she had finished with, but in general their relationship had been professional, bar the odd shared joke or rolled eyes in the course of their work together. They were friendly enough with each other, but Jean made every effort to keep things professional.

Then Millie asked her to dance.

It was a Friday night, the first of the month, which had been designated, bar any need for extra shifts over the weekend, a regular dance night. The girls would clear the tables to the side after dinner and turn Hut 2 into a dance hall, playing records on a rather ancient gramophone. There were no men, of course, but for all of what seemed like endless gossiping about boyfriends she caught a number of them at during working hours, they were surprisingly able to make do. It was quite surreal, the few times that Jean passed the window, and the even fewer times when she popped in, to see a hall full of girls dancing together. She felt for those of them, like her, who wished this were more of a permanent reality.

This was one of rare occasions when she had consented to join in; they had worked ungodly hours for most of the week, ultimately playing a key role in minimising civilian casualties from a German bombing, the location of which they had pinpointed. Jean was generally level-headed, but even she felt the need to blow off some steam with something a little bit more exciting than a particularly challenging knitting pattern, so when a group of the girls from her Hut had basically cornered her and asked her to come she hadn’t resisted. She was wearing her Sunday Best, and didn’t plan to dance; she planned instead to maintain a kind of professional stoicism, and to take in the atmosphere of everyone around her enjoying themselves as they did so. She was sure many well-laid plans had been derailed the same way hers was.

Millie approached her when Smoke Gets In Your Eyes was playing and held out her hand, wordlessly. When Jean shook her head, Millie spoke.

“Come on, Jean, you haven’t danced all evening,” she said.

Something about the way she said her first name, accompanied by the almost teasing look in her eye, made Jean take her hand and stand up.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m leading.”

“Be my guest,” Millie said.

Jean felt uncharacteristically self-conscious as she stepped out on to the makeshift dancefloor, feeling as if the whole room could see who she was and why she wanted to dance with a woman like Millie. Although she knew this was a falsehood, it wasn’t helped by the fact that everyone was looking at them with some curiosity. She knew they were looking at Millie, mostly, the woman who dared to ask the boss for a dance, but also at her, just to take in the sight of her relaxed.

That awkward feeling remained for the first few steps as they negotiated the placement of their hands and started to move their feet, but it dissipated as they settled into a rhythm. They moved well enough together, in spite of Jean not _strictly_ being that used to leading, and she found herself ~~,~~ feeling quite removed from the rest of the activity in the room, distracted by the feeling of Millie’s waist under her hands and the smell of perfume when she spun her. She wanted, in that moment, for the barriers that kept her from Millie to melt away, to be able to run a hand through her hair, to ask if she might give her a kiss. She imagined Millie would be a wonderful kisser - more experienced than Jean despite the difference in their ages - and that she would taste like the cigarettes and whiskey she definitely wasn’t supposed to have access to.

When the song finished, there was a pause before Millie beamed at her, before excusing herself to help Susan Havers with the gramophone. Jean was left blushing and breathless, and, to some sense of shame, aware of a dampness in her underwear.

She left soon afterwards, heading back to her room and away from the Hut that suddenly felt far too bright and warm and loud. She made herself some tea and tried to read for a little while before bed but found that she couldn’t settle, her mind quite fixated on her thoughts during her dance with Millie and her body ached to be touched. When she found she had one hand idly brushing against one of her breasts through her shirt she sighed and put her book down.

It wasn’t something she did often, having been warned against the evils of it in Church since she was a child, but alongside her religiosity she was deeply pragmatic, and sometimes it was just a case of needs must. She didn’t undress for it; instead, after checking several times that the door was definitely locked, lay back on her bed in the outfit she had put on for the dance. As with most things, she wasn’t so much into preamble when left to her own devices, so she quickly let her fingers move between her legs, where she found herself already wet and swollen. She imagined them in Hut 2 again, this time actually absent of other people, and an embrace at the end of their dance leading to Millie pressed up against the wall, her skirt lifted whilst Jean’s hand moved underneath it. She was leading, as she had in their dance, ostensibly in control but positioning herself in a way to give the younger woman exactly what she wanted. She teased her a little, moving her thumb over her clit, revelling in the little noises Millie made and the way she dug her fingers into her scalp. Jean rubbed herself as, in her fantasy, she pushed inside Millie and had to place a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet as she moaned, the occasional whisper of Jean’s name audible through her fingers. As her fictionalised Millie came, gasping and shaking beneath her, so did Jean herself, letting out a single squeak into her own hand.

Afterwards, she changed quickly and went to bed without saying her prayers, although she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Millie and Jasper shenanigans!

_London, 1948_

“Are you going to tell me why you’re in my flat yet?” Millie said, although she, as requested, had closed her eyes and held out her hands when Jasper had requested. She suspected that an outsider looking in on the situation would have advised against letting a man she had known for barely a month into her home under the guise of having a surprise for her, but she found it, as usual, entirely possible to disregard what others might think. The very idea that she could be hurt or threatened by Jasper, even at this relatively early stage of knowing him, was quite ridiculous to her.

“Just fancied having a look around,” Jasper said. “That’s a remarkably well-equipped kitchen, Jean’s a lucky lady.”

“You know,” Millie said, her eyes still closed. “If I murdered you, I think I could do a decent job of hiding the body.”

“Nah,” Jasper replied. “I don’t reckon you could lift me. You’re quick but not that strong.”

“That’s outrageous,” Millie said.

“Win all the weight-lifting competitions at boarding school, did you?” Jasper said.

“Oh, just get on with it, would you?” Millie said.

Jasper laughed, and Millie felt him place something in her hands.

“You can open them now,” he said.

Millie opened her eyes to see she was holding a modest, but not insignificant, stack of cash.

“It’s your first cut of the profits,” Jasper explained.

“Oh, wow,” she said, giving it a quick, approximate count. “Thanks.”

“Thank you, co-pilot,” he said. “It’s well-deserved.”

“How delightfully earnest of you,” she teased.

“So, I thought, on our way out today, we could do a spot of shopping, get yourself something pretty,” Jasper said.

Millie raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t that she was _opposed_ to the idea of shopping, far from it, but she was a little taken aback by Jasper’s apparent interest.

“You want to go shopping?” she said.

“It’s sort of a rite of passage in the import-export community,” he said. “Buying something fancy with your first cut.”

“The _community_?” Millie said. “Are there meetings? Is there a union?”

“Look, do you want to go shopping or do you just want to mock my kindness all day?” he said.

“Can I not do both?” she said, with an affronted look. “Yes, I do want to go shopping.”

Jasper smiled broadly.

“It’s got to be something ridiculous, nothing sensible,” he said. “Those are the rules.”

“I’m insulted that you would even think you needed to clarify that with me,” Millie said, thinking briefly of the growing number of notices of rent arrears she was accumulating, aware that her landlord would just have to wait another month. “We’re going to The Lancashire today?”

“That’s the one,” he said.

“There’s a jeweller around the corner from there that I really like, let’s go there,” Millie said. She turned to the mirror and popped her earrings in, a task she had been about to do when Jasper arrived. “Ready when you are.”

The day they headed out into was on the chilly side but pleasant enough, so although she had assumed they would get a bus because of the distance, she allowed Jasper to persuade her to go on foot.

As she walked, her long legs easily allowing her to match his pace, her thoughts turned to Jean. She usually tried not to reflect too heavily on her time with her when she was with Jasper (because frankly, it made everything feel less sexy) but it was difficult not to acknowledge that she did feel _better_ since their last meeting. She felt more worthy of her own history somehow, surer in the knowledge of who she was and what she could do, and the fact that she had achieved that as part of some of the best sex of her life gave it an almost addictive quality.

“Good afternoon, Madam,” the shopkeeper said effusively from behind the counter as Millie entered, shortly followed by Jasper. “And Sir, hello.”

Millie was a little taken aback by the intensity of the greeting. The previous few times she had visited the shop had been staffed by an impossibly old-looking man, who knew an awful lot about his stock but generally didn’t like to be disturbed. She supposed it was under new ownership, or that this altogether more bouncy man was some kind of relative. She did hope his presence wasn’t a sign that the older man had passed away, she had always found him quite charming, in his way.

“Good afternoon,” Millie said, pleasantly enough, although she was more interested in shopping than in chatting with him. She felt enthused about the process, not really because of what she might buy - she had plenty of jewellery, of course, much of it a great deal nicer than anything she could afford – but for the ritual of it, the sense of control and direction it seemed to symbolise.

“After something for the lady, Sir?” the young man said.

Millie looked up, very much about to say something along the lines of t _he lady is after something for herself_ when Jasper spoke.

“Of course, she’s worth it,” he said, giving Millie what she supposed was meant to appear like an affectionate nudge with his elbow.

“Thank you, darling,” she said with a smile, although with her eyes she shot him a warning look for his patronising tone.

She wandered over to the cabinets to browse, trying not to be put off by the fact that she could see the shopkeeper watching her every move out of the corner of her eye, clearly ready to jump in and offer help at a millisecond’s notice. After a few minutes, she had settled on wanting to take a closer look at a gold chain with a ruby pendant which she knew would go beautifully with a number of her dresses, but she decided to carry on the game for a little while. She continued along, looking into the cases until she reached one full of rings.

“This one is beautiful,” Millie said, pointing at what was very clearly intended to be an engagement ring.

“It’s a little early for all that, my sweet,” Jasper said, a fabricated tone of worry in his voice.

“Perhaps you would like to look at the brooches? We have a number of very elegant options,” the shopkeeper said quickly.

“Yes, or these his and hers pocket watches?” Jasper suggested.

As Millie stifled a laugh in response to the rather garish timepieces Jasper had pointed out, she caught sight of a hair ornament amongst the brooches. It was silver with what looked like emerald and amethyst stones set into it in an alternating pattern and something about it said _Jean_ to her. She could imagine the other woman with her hair mostly down (it happened once or twice at Bletchley, she remembered mostly because so many of the girls had lost their minds at the sight), a little pulled back from her face and adorned with the hair slide, pretty but subtle and not too flashy. (It caused a flutter in her chest now, the thought of that thick, dark hair loose and draping over Jean’s shoulders, being permitted to run her fingers through it.)

Millie had always been a big gift-giver, when she thought of or found _just_ the right thing for someone she felt virtually powerless not to give it, but something made her hesitate. She had bought the odd thing for Jean before, she was sure, although not since they had been sleeping together, which she certainly felt complicated the act of giving her a present.

She walked away, back in the direction of the necklaces.

“Can I have a look at the necklace with the ruby, please?” she said.

“Certainly,” said the shopkeeper.

Taking it from the box when it was passed to her, Millie held the necklace up against her skin, turning to look at Jasper.

“Beautiful,” he said. “It brings out the colour of your eyes.”

“He’s a charmer. We’ll have that, please,” she said. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “And the silver hair slide, we’ll take that too.” The somewhat delicate nature of their relationship didn’t mean she could _never_ give Jean gifts, the existence of occasions like her birthday seemed unlikely to be affected by their having had sex, after all.

“Will we now? You’ll bankrupt me, woman,” Jasper said. “It’s fine,” he added, when the shopkeeper looked up.

Millie rolled her eyes.

“But I thought you said I was worth it?” she said.

“You are, my love, of course,” he said, feigning patting his pockets as if trying to find something. “Except, well, I’ve only gone and left my wallet at home, haven’t I?”

The shopkeeper looked up from where he was making a note of the sale.

“Should I hold them for later on today, sir?” he said, looking a little disappointed.

“We were supposed to be off out for dinner, I don’t know what to suggest,” Jasper said. “I do hate to ask, my little cherub, but could you perhaps pay the gentleman and I’ll get you the money later on? I am sorry, spoiling my romantic gift.”

“It is really okay for -,” the shopkeeper said.

“It’s fine, I can pay,” Millie said huffily, reaching into her handbag and counting out the appropriate amount before handing it to the shopkeeper. “He’ll just have to make up for it.”

“I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life if I have to,” Jasper said dramatically, as Millie took the boxes from the increasingly concerned-looking shopkeeper.

“You’re intolerable,” Millie said, once they stepped out onto the pavement.

Jasper laughed. “And yet you keep coming back,” he said, offering her a cigarette. “Come on, my angel, we’ve got schmoozing to do.”

She gave him a shove and waited expectantly for a light, grateful that he hadn’t commented on her second purchase.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! All the usual stuff for this story, plus spanking with enthusiastic and repeated consent.

_London, 1948_

“And you’re certain this is what you want?” Jean asked as she cleared away the crockery from the soup she had made for them to share. “It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“I thought I had made it rather clear that being taken lightly wasn’t on my agenda,” Millie said, her flirtatious tone at once both genuine and (apparently poorly) covering up some nervousness.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “You did, dear,” she said, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Still, one can never be too careful when it comes to things like this.”

“I appreciate the check-in, really,” Millie said. “But I’ve thought about little else all week. I want this.”

She _had_ thought about it a lot through the week, a mixture of pleasant imaginings before bed and entirely inappropriate visions when she was midway through arranging the sale of an entire case of perfume.

Jean nodded. “Remember the safe word,” she said.

“How could I forget it?” Millie said.

“Remember to _use it_ , if you need to,” Jean clarified, wandering over to look down at Millie sitting on the settee.

“Yes, Miss McBrian,” Millie said, arranging her face into a coquettish expression before she glanced up at the other woman. She knew it was perhaps a faux pas to use the phrase, knowing it would push Jean into action, but she was really w _as_ sure.

Jean moved her hands to her hips.

“Contrary girl,” she said. “You would do better to take me seriously when I speak.”

Millie’s whole body reacted to the sternness in Jean’s eyes and she held back a sigh. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll listen, I promise.”

“Good. I’ve come to expect better from you,” Jean said. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve done to deserve this punishment?”

For Millie, her interest was largely in exploring the sensation; her fantasies focussed on the feeling of Jean touching her in a different way and the marks that might be left of her body as a result.

She couldn’t say she had anything in particular in mind that for which she felt she needed to be punished. However, she appreciated that between her work with Jasper, her poor effort to find a job which wasn’t part of the criminal underbelly of the city, and that fact that that part of her _was_ just a little more interested in going to Sunday lunch with her family when she thought about her Grandmother’s hunting lodge in Scotland (which would have to be left to _someone_ ), there was plenty which would warrant the disapproval of the other woman, and that realisation sent a strange mixture of guilt and arousal through her.

“The usual,” she settled for.

Jean tutted. “You just don’t learn, do you?” she said.

“It’s a character flaw,” Millie said.

“Don’t talk back,” Jean said firmly.

Millie shuddered, the other woman’s increased strictness having the desired effect.

“The bedroom is there,” Jean said, gesturing to the door at the back left of the room. “Go and get yourself ready for me. I want your skirt, stockings and knickers off. I’ll be through shortly.”

Millie’s legs felt distinctly like jelly when she stood up and followed her instructions. Although the strangeness of intimacy with Jean had mostly worn off, the experience of being in Jean’s bedroom for the first time, alone and undressing herself in preparation to be _spanked_ , really did make the oddness stand out again. She wondered what herself a few years ago would have thought if she could have told her, beyond finding the possibility of it being something _Jean_ was up for entirely preposterous. Would she have wanted it? It was hard to imagine herself saying no now, but she suspects, possibly, that she would have done, utterly dedicated to Susan as she had been.

She glanced around the room as she removed the requested garments. It was as she would have imagined Jean’s bedroom to look, simply decorated and furnished with various items made of a matching dark wood. On the bedside table there was a lamp and a small, neatly stacked pile of novels.

She roughly folded her skirt and underwear and put them on a chair next to the wardrobe, aware of the cold on the skin which had been exposed. She considered taking a seat on the bed but decided to wait for permission. Even outside of this game, the idea of plonking herself down on Jean’s bed without her say so felt very presumptuous – the kind of thing she may well do, but knows that she shouldn’t.

Millie looked up when Jean walked into the room, clearly taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her standing half-nude in her bedroom. She gasped when the other woman approached her and brought their lips together in a bruising kiss.

When Jean pulled away, it was just enough so she could speak coherently, her face still very close to Millie’s. “Good girl,” she said. “Now, get on the bed, on your hands and knees, facing the headboard.”

Millie did as she was told, enjoying the feeling of positioning herself exactly as she was asked. As she raised herself up onto her knees, the idea of what Jean could see from her point of view, of how _on display_ _s_ he was to the other woman, increased her already substantial arousal, which she could feel smeared on her inner thighs.

She felt the bed dip as Jean took a seat behind her.

“You’re already wet. Are you looking forward to what I am going to do to you?” Jean said, running her hand up Millie’s spine, underneath her blouse.

“Yes,” Millie stuttered out.

“It’s hard to imagine you’ve been naughty enough to deserve this when you’ve been on your best behaviour with me,” Jean said, reversing the direction of her touch, dragging her fingertips across the skin of Millie’s back.

Millie briefly wondered how Jean was able to keep a straight face whilst presenting the idea of her misbehaving as some kind of strange novelty. She supposed it was the same reason that she was shaking with need rather than mirth.

“Still, I trust you to know what you need,” Jean said.

Jean let her hand trail, seemingly without purpose, over Millie’s buttocks and to her inner thighs. Millie gasped at the touch to the skin so close to where she wanted it.

“ _Please_ ,” Millie said.

Millie didn’t need to see Jean’s face to know she was smiling.

“Please, _what_?” Jean said.

“Please, I need you to touch me,” Millie said.

She knew she would be in for a wait, still, and it was confirmed when she felt one of Jean’s hands take a firm grip on her backside whilst the other one continued its journey along her thigh. She cried out at the feeling of a finger on her clit, and again as Jean’s hand teased at her entrance before pulling away entirely.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Millie said.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth for such a good girl,” Jean said.

There was a pause, and then Millie felt Jean bring the palm of her hand, wet from touching her, down against her right buttock. It wasn’t particularly hard but she let out a moan of pain and satisfaction, almost immediately raising herself up against Jean, indicating that she wanted more.

“Do you like me disciplining you, girl?” Jean asked. After a couple of seconds of silence, she spoke again, this time in a softer tone. “Is this all okay, dear?”

Millie nodded.

“Words, Millie,” Jean prompted gently.

“Yes,” Millie said, her voice shaking. “Please don’t stop.”

She felt a kiss at the base her spine, followed by another slap, harder this time, which made her gasp. She reached behind her for Jean’s free hand and tangled it into her hair.

“You seem to be confused about who is issuing instructions to who,” Jean said. “Lucky for you, I like the sounds good girls make when they get their hair pulled.”

Millie felt her grip her hair tightly between her fingers, the other woman tugging hard as she brought her hand down once more, and surprised herself with the high keening noise that came out of her mouth.

“So _good_ ,” Millie said. “More.”

“You _are_ ,” Jean said. “More, what?”

Millie turned around to look at Jean, her face flushed. “More, please,” she gasped out.

“Seeing as you asked so nicely,” Jean said, and hit her twice in quick succession.

Millie felt Jean’s hand press lightly against her skin and could imagine the hot, red patches blooming. Then Jean’s hand moved down her thighs to between her legs, and she heard Jean’s breath hitch when she touched her.

“You’re dripping wet, girl,” Jean said. “How does it feel, having me do this to you?”

Millie whimpered. It was difficult for her to identify exactly how she was feeling – everything was just incredibly intense, the juxtaposition of the stinging pain on her skin with Jean’s gratuitous praise and occasional kisses, applied like a soothing balm, was making her forget the life she had outside of the room. She wasn’t sure how she had expected to feel, but it wasn’t like the pleasantly trance-like state she found herself in.

“Answer me, or I won’t touch you,” Jean said firmly.

“It feels amazing,” Millie said, feeling like it was an inadequate descriptor but knowing it was the best she could do.

“I’m glad. You’re taking it like such a good girl,” Jean said fondly. “I wonder how I can show how pleased I am with you.”

Jean’s fingers were teasing at Millie’s wetness as she spoke, just teasing touches, despite the way Millie was moving her hips in an attempt to increase the friction. Millie was just about to moan in frustration when she felt the other woman slide two fingers inside her.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Millie said as Jean started building a steady pace, pulling her hair as she moved in and out. “Fuck. Can you -?”

She couldn’t find the words but Jean filled in the blanks, removing the hand that was in her hair and bringing it down on the as yet unblemished skin of her left buttock.

“ _Yes_ ,” Millie hissed, moving to lean on her elbows so she could more comfortably press back into Jean’s hand, sure had never felt something anything quite as exquisite before. She could soon feel herself tightening around the other woman’s fingers, feel the extra effort Jean was having to make to move inside her, but she knew she needed more stimulation to tip her into orgasm. “Can I touch myself? Please?”

There was a delay and Millie was briefly concerned she had said the wrong thing until she heard the other woman gasp.

“Please do,” Jean said a few seconds later, a wobble perceivable in her voice.

Millie reached between her legs, desperate for some relief to her intense feelings but also somewhat disappointed knowing that it would very quickly be over. She let herself revel in the sensations for a few seconds longer, gasping and panting at the feeling of Jean inside her, and waited for a final, hard slap before she made contact with her clit and, after just a few strokes, collapsed into the pillow as she came, no longer able to hold herself up.

She was still tingling all over when Jean withdrew her hand and moved up to join her at the top of the bed, Millie’s skin burning with the sensation of several barely-there kisses and the way the other woman’s hand came to rest on her exposed hip.

“Are you okay, dear?” Jean asked.

“I have no idea,” Millie replied, aware that her voice muffled by the pillows but feeling utterly unable to lift her face up. “I might have died.”

“I’ll take that as a positive review,” Jean said, and Millie felt a kiss on the back of her neck. “Although I would prefer you didn’t just expire here, it would leave me with rather a lot of explaining to do.”

Millie laughed softly and made herself roll over so she was facing Jean, at which point her laugh faded. The other woman was propped up on her elbow, her cheeks pink and her bun ever so slightly disturbed. “Ever the pragmatist,” she said, her mouth slightly dry.

“Could you expect anything else from a Bletchley girl?” Jean said.

Her hand on Millie’s hip was tracing patterns on the skin, and Millie quite instinctively reached forward to kiss her.

They often kissed after sex, of course, but the change of setting made the experience feel more intense, especially when they broke away and Millie, quite without processing what she was doing, rested her head on Jean’s chest.

There was a silence for a few moments before Jean cleared her throat.

“Oh, God, sorry,” Millie said, sitting up. “That orgasm has addled my brain, clearly.”

“No, I -” Jean said, her voice sounding uncharacteristically tentative to Millie. “I was just going to say, it’s normal to want physical contact after an experience like we’ve just had, it’s quite important actually, so it’s fine if we-. I could put my arms around you, if you want?”

“There’s no need to make up facts to justify cuddling with me, Jean,” Millie said sleepily, although she knew, for both of them, there was. “I know it's been your plan all along.” She paused. “I think I’d like that,” she added in a smaller voice, shifting her position slightly so she was more comfortable.

“Don’t flatter yourself, dear,” Jean said.

Millie felt the weight of the other woman’s joined hands resting on her hip.

“Old habits die hard,” she said, quipping to counteract the strangeness of Jean holding her, and perhaps more importantly, how _nice_ it felt. She didn’t bother to fight the fact she was drifting off, although she was vaguely aware of the feeling that she should.


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, but no additional tags unless 'THESE WOMEN ARE RIDICULOUS' counts.

_London, 1948_

Millie awoke to the sound of a door closing, followed by footsteps, and sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented for a moment until she remembered where she was. She could just about remember closing her eyes, but not getting under the covers as she clearly had, or making the decision to stay half-dressed, the buttons on her blouse still fastened.

She looked up at the clock on the wall and had another jolt of panic at the realisation that it was gone midday, that she had slept in t _hrough the entire morning_ in Jean’s bed. She found herself feeling suddenly flustered, although she knew it was too late to do anything about it. It felt exceptionally _rude_ , and whilst that wasn’t something that usually bothered her, she found that it did when it came to this situation, and to Jean.

She was considering the – admittedly somewhat dramatic – option of escaping through the window rather than facing the other woman when the bedroom door opened slowly.

Jean was in her Sunday Best (which in all honesty, didn’t look that different to her regular clothes – this was just, Millie presumed, her very nicest pleated skirt and blouse combination), presumably just back from Church.

“Oh, you are awake,” Jean said.

“Jean, I am _so sorry_ , I don’t know how I slept in so late. I’ll get out of your hair just as soon as I can,” Millie said.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Jean said. “You must have needed it.”

“I suppose so,” Millie said.

“How are you feeling?” Jean asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed on the opposite side to Millie.

Millie registered briefly that, despite her anxiety that she had become an unwelcome houseguest, she felt _good_. She didn’t think she had slept as well in some time.

“Not bad,” Millie said. “A bit sore, but I’m sure that’s to be expected.”

Jean gestured towards the blanket that was covering the affected area.

“May I?” she said.

“Be my guest,” Millie said, with a tone of amusement, rolling onto her front as the other woman moved towards her.

Jean lifted the cover and after a moment Millie felt her hand, still cold from the outside air, on her flesh.

“Impressed with yourself?” Millie said.

“I am, rather,” Jean replied, looking for few more seconds before she covered Millie over again. “There’s some healing cream in the bathroom, feel free to help yourself.”

Millie turned over again, sure that her face expressed the gentle bemusement she felt. “You’re quite an impressive set of contradictions, you know,” she said.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “How so?” she said.

“You know, the Church thing,” Millie said. “After...”

If Jean resented Millie referring to her deeply-held faith as ‘the Church thing’, it didn’t show in her facial expression.

“There are very few mentions of lesbianism in the Bible, and Jesus didn’t speak against homosexuality at all,” Jean said, in the tone of a woman who had held that argument close to her heart for many years.

“Still, I don’t know what he’d make of the spanking,” Millie said nonchalantly.

Jean rolled her eyes. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she said.

“You’re ignoring my point,” Millie said.

“I am,” Jean replied pleasantly. “Tea?”

Millie paused. “I mean, yes, please, if you’re sure it’s not an imposition?” she said.

“I was about to make it for myself, I think I’ll manage the stress of bringing an extra cup,” Jean said as she stood up and headed towards the door. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“I can get up,” Millie called after her.

“I know,” Jean shouted back. “But there’s no need.”

Millie thought about getting up anyway, but feared that would cause a bigger issue than just staying where she was. She did step out of a bed for a minute to glance at her reflection, confirming to herself that, in fact, her hair did look as bad as she suspected it did and regretting the fact that she didn’t bring her handbag through to the bedroom. She briefly considered the absurdity of her being concerned about what Jean thought of the way she looked in the morning, but supposed it was reasonable, if she was going to be a guest that had outstayed her welcome, to at least want to be a _pretty_ guest that had outstayed her welcome.

Jean arrived with a tray a few minutes later and placed it on Millie’s lap.

“I made you some toast,” she said. “I assumed you wouldn’t want porridge.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Millie said, though she realised she was quite hungry and took a grateful bite of the toast. “Do you actually eat porridge for breakfast?”

“Of course,” Jean replied. “I fear I would be barred from Scotland if it was discovered I did anything different.”

Millie laughed. “Here was me thinking it was just a stereotype,” she said.

“Some things are stereotypes for a reason, I suppose,” Jean said, taking her cup and saucer from the tray.

“Do you miss it?” Millie asked. “Scotland, I mean.”

“Oh, I haven’t lived there since I was a girl; I’ve been here, or hereabouts far longer,” Jean said. “It‘s important to me, of course, but certainly the village I grew up in is no place for me now, not if I want to have any kind of a life at all.”

Millie nodded. That was certainly relatable, despite her own childhood home being very different to Jean’s, she was sure.

“Tell me though, how _does_ a nice, respectable Presbyterian girl from a Scottish village find out she gets off on the kind of delicious torture you’re into doling out?” Millie said, somewhat mischievously. “It seems an odd one, somehow.”

Jean laughed, but Millie could sense some discomfort in it. She took a sip of her tea. “I do think you are somewhat missing the point, dear,” she said.

“How so?” Millie asked. It was the kind of conversation she was used to having with a cigarette in her hand, using it as a prop as she gesticulated and timing her exhales to make everything more dramatic. She wasn’t about to ask for permission to smoke in Jean’s bed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t _want_ to.

“I don’t get off on any of the things we have been doing,” Jean said. She paused, and smiled very slightly. “Well, not _specifically_. They’re more of a catalyst.”

Millie nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“The most gratifying part for me,” Jean said. “Is establishing precisely what _a person_ needs and wants and being in control of giving it to them.”

“That’s kind of the opposite of bossy, really,” Millie said, trying hard to ignore the butterflies in her stomach caused by how _breathtakingly romantic_ she found that explanation, but already knowing in her heart of hearts that it was a battle she had already lost.

“Yes, it’s funny how these things work out,” Jean replied.

There was silence for a few moments as Millie finished her tea and placed the tray on the floor.

“Does it always have to be that way for you?” she said, with a gentle kind of flirtatiousness. “Sex, I mean.”

Jean looked at her curiously. “Not necessarily, although it has tended to,” she said. “It depends very much on relationships, dynamics...”

Millie knew it might have stopped another person in their tracks, the possibility that their plan would perhaps disrupt a delicate balance, but she was Millie Harcourt, and it would take more than good sense to stop her doing something she had decided she wanted.

“So, for example,” Millie said, leaning in towards her. “Could I just...”

For the first time since they had been sharing kisses, the power was firmly in Millie’s court. She held Jean’s face in her hands and kissed her thoroughly, making a point of her tongue being the first to cross into Jean’s mouth rather than vice versa. She lowered them back against the pillows, positioning herself just to the side of Jean, her hands on either side of the other woman’s head as they kissed, and she heard her whimper quite helplessly.

“I want to make you feel good,” Millie said, whispering against Jean’s ear. “Will you let me?”

There was a pause in which Jean closed her eyes and then nodded. “Yes,” she said.

Millie kissed Jean softly, largely to resist saying _Thank you_ or _Well done_ or any of the other phrases which she could feel threatening to spill from her mouth which would disturb the tentative balance of the situation. Moving to a kneeling position, she reached for the top button of Jean’s neatly-pressed, fresh-from-Church blouse, watching the other woman’s face for signs of discomfort as she unfastened it. Soon each one was buttoned and she moved to slip the shirt off Jean’s shoulders, at which point the other woman gently gripped her arms.

“No,” Jean said. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Millie said brightly, letting go of the blouse and instead pressing a kiss to her sternum.

She brushed her fingers across the flesh of her breasts that was accessible above her bra (she felt almost guilty for thinking it, although logically there was no _more appropriate_ time, but Jean really did have exceptional breasts; it was practically criminal they were so heavily concealed so much of the time) and enjoyed the little gasps the other woman made in response, noises which became more like moans when she replaced her hands with her mouth and her tongue flicked up towards a nipple.

After a while Millie shifted her position again, laying down next to Jean, propped up on one elbow, whilst her other hand moved down the other woman’s body to the waistband of her skirt. She slid her hand under it, and the knickers beneath it easily and soon she was inches away from where she so wanted to touch.

She kissed Jean firmly before pulling back and looking at her, wordlessly asking for permission again.

“I’m sure,” Jean said. “Go on.”

On hearing that, Millie delayed no further. She pushed her hand downwards and moaned involuntarily at the feeling of Jean’s wetness against her. She gathered a little on her fingers and moved to her clit, starting to make small circles against the sensitive flesh.

Jean gasped at the feeling and quickly started rocking her hips in time with Millie’s movements.

“ _Yes_ ,” she said, when Millie increased the pace.

It was quickly clear she was close, and Millie found herself a little overwhelmed that she was about to give Jean McBrian an orgasm. She appreciated she had technically done so already, but that first time, though undoubtedly marvellous, felt more like being a _witness to_ it rather than being _responsible_ for it. She found herself moaning along with Jean as she teetered on the edge, enthralled by the sights and the sounds before her.

“I can’t wait to see you come,” she said, pressing kisses against her neck and down to the top of her breastbone as the other woman moved underneath her. It wasn’t _exactly_ an instruction, she wasn’t prepared to push her luck to that extent, but she enjoyed the slightly subversive nature of being the one teasing and complimenting.

It was a few seconds more before Jean stilled and cried out, reaching down to hold Millie’s hand in place until she was finished.

“That was gorgeous, darling,” Millie said, as Jean recovered. She gently extricated her hand from Jean’s skirt and underwear and brought her fingers to her mouth to lick clean. “ _God_ , you taste good.”

“I imagine I taste much the same as everyone else, but thank you,” Jean said.

Millie laughed, and pulled her in for another long, languid kiss. She was just wondering whether she might be able to persuade Jean to go again when the clock on the wall chimed two.

“Oh goodness, how did it get to that time?” Millie said, breaking away to look up and confirm she hadn’t misheard. It was hardly unreasonable for an hour to have passed, but she had absolutely forgotten, in the chaos of her waking up, that she was due to meet Jasper later that day.

“It flies when you’re having fun,” Jean said, sitting up and starting rebutton her blouse.

“It _was_ fun,” Millie said. She reached for Jean to give her another kiss, still very much in the afterglow of their intimacy, but noticed that the other woman was suddenly distant, returning the kiss but pulling away quickly. “I should get home, though, I said I would meet a friend for some drinks later on this afternoon, and I’m-” she gestured towards her body, still half-dressed in the previous day’s clothes.

“In no state for Sunday afternoon drinks,” Jean said. “I’ll leave you to dress.”

Millie frowned and dressed herself (with the exception of her knickers, which she decided were a lost cause), trying to work out at what point she had misstepped. She hastily attempted to make the bed, although she had no doubt that Jean would redo it once she had left.

When she made her way back into the living room, holding yesterday’s underwear in one hand, she found Jean standing by the settee, folding bedding.

“Did you sleep on there?” Millie asked. The settee was small, big enough for two people to sit next to each other with some comfort, _reasonably_ workable for sex, but it wasn’t exactly spacious. Even considering that Jean was a few inches shorter than Millie, she wouldn’t have been able to fit comfortably.

Jean frowned. “Are you planning to walk home with your dirty knickers in your hand?” she said.

“I rather thought I would, give everyone something to talk about, you know?” Millie said sarcastically, crossing the room to put them in her coat pocket. “Now you answer.”

“We didn’t have an opportunity to discuss sleeping arrangements, and it didn’t feel appropriate to just stay in bed with you without your permission,” Jean said.

Millie held herself back from voicing her first reaction, that it seemed patently absurd to fuck someone senseless and then (it felt a little painful to remember in this context) let them _fall asleep in your arms_ , only to find it too much to share a bed with them. “Well, thank you, but you didn’t need to do that,” she said instead.

Jean shrugged. “It allowed me to avoid your snoring, too,” she said.

“I do not snore,” Millie said.

“I could hear it from in here,” Jean said.

“Fancy that. Perhaps you need your hearing tested,” Millie said. She put her coat and shoes on and picked up her handbag, trying to get sight of herself in the mirror. “I really must look frightful,” she said.

“You look perfectly fine,” Jean said.

It was barely a compliment, but Millie felt her cheeks flush.

“I should go,” Millie said. “I’m running awfully late now.”

“Of course, dear,” Jean said.

Millie moved to embrace her, her eyes slightly closed with the expectation of a kiss, which, although it did come, was to her cheek rather than her lips.

After that, she said goodbye quickly, feigning an air of cheerfulness. She made sure to be out of the building and out of sight of the windows before she allowed herself to even _think_ about her disappointment.


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief description of sexytimes in this chapter.

_Bletchley Park: 1943_

Jean was heading back from the house. It was Mr Turing’s birthday, and in what had become a Bletchley tradition there had been something of a dinner party for the senior staff. It was very make-do, as these things had to be, not the sort of menu Jean imagined many people around the table would have been used to before all this, but the food was nice enough and the company was pleasant. Someone had managed to get hold of a bottle of Scotch, too, which had been a delight. She had been amongst the last to leave, having got caught up in a conversation with a colleague based in the main house about the cake she had made for the occasion, which she had been really quite impressed with.

It had, in all, been a nice evening, particularly once she had shaken her disappointment that being out for the night meant that she would miss out on a chance to spend time with Millie that day. She was back to coming over most evenings again since Jean’s resolution to keep her door closed had weakened and then, certainly against her better judgement (she really should have locked herself in indefinitely), entirely crumbled after the dance they had shared. She knew it was foolish to look forward to it so much and understood that they could only be friends (something which in itself had to be carefully managed). She knew that there was no point in even hoping anything else, but she found at times that she couldn’t help herself and even dared to wonder, following careful analysis of their interactions over a period of time (the gifts Millie brought her, the way they exchanged banter when she pulled her up on taking liberties with the rules a _gain_ ), whether Millie might feel the same way about her.

The rest of the campus was mostly still, the girls that were still working doing so behind blackout boards. She noticed a light coming from her own hut and frowned. It wasn’t unusual for people to stay late, but her girls had the importance of maintaining the blackout consistently impressed upon them. As she walked closer, she could make out some papers on a couple of desks, but still couldn’t see any people.

She was almost at the window and could see that the paperwork seemed to have been left out on Millie’s desk, which offered little surprise, but some frustration. She sighed and continued heading towards the doorway, the fact that she had still seen no sign of movement making it quite clear to her that Millie had somehow, despite that great brain of hers, managed to wander off leaving paperwork on her desk and a lamp on. She was thinking, with some discomfort, about what she would have to say to Millie the next morning when she opened the door to the hut and saw an entirely different scene before her than she had been prepared for.

The hut wasn’t empty. Millie was still there, and she was very obviously not alone. Susan Havers was with her, sat up against the leg of one of the desks, her hands resting on Millie’s head as it moved between her legs. For quite obvious reasons, it was Susan who saw Jean first. She gasped (a sound which was clearly misinterpreted by Millie, who let out a low chuckle) and shoved the other woman by the shoulders.

“No, no, no... _Millie_ ,” Susan said. Jean watched her struggling to move Millie whilst at the same time pulling her skirt down, scrambling to attain some level of decency as she shook with anxiety.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Millie asked as she emerged. She attempted to cup Susan’s face in her hands, but when Susan darted as far away for her as she could, taking into account the closeness of their positions, Millie frowned and turned to face the door, looking straight at Jean with her face flushed red, Susan’s wetness visible on her lips.

“Jean,” Millie said, and then immediately seemed to change her mind. “Miss McBrian.”

It was rare for Jean to be lost for words. Sometimes she used them sparingly, certainly, but she generally wasn’t an easily flustered woman. Since she had opened that door, however, she found that there seemed to be a disconnect between her brain and her mouth. Thoughts were running through her head, but she didn’t know which ones to vocalise.

Susan started crying, great panicked sobs which emphasised the silence. Millie appeared to reach for her hand, but then withdrew it. She looked around, helplessly, for a moment or two before she spoke.

“Miss McBrian,” Millie said, her eyes moving down briefly to the dust on her trousers as she stood up. “It wasn’t Susan’s fault, it was me, I-”

“Get to your digs, both of you,” Jean said, surprised both by the wobbly quality of voice and the fact that she could get any words out at all. “Now.”

“Please, if you could just let me explain,” Millie said.

Jean put a hand out in front of her. “I don’t want to hear another peep from either of you,” she said. “I can’t even begin to express how disgusted and disappointed I am with the two of you. The very best thing you can do right now is get out of my sight.”

Millie opened her mouth again but stopped at the sight of Jean’s raised eyebrows.

“Come on, Susan,” she said. 

She offered her hand to help her up and it was rejected, but Susan did rise to her feet.

As they trailed out and Jean could hear the now softer noise of Susan’s sobbing, she braced herself against the nearest desk, her heart beating fast and waves of emotions coming over her. She hadn’t been in any way untruthful when she said she was disgusted and disappointed with them – she was, for their rule-breaking and their utter foolishness. There was no doubt, though, that her response had focussed on those elements because they were the bits she could do something about, that she could exert authority over. The rest of the feelings were raw and messy and not things she could express out loud.

She was jealous. She realised, at that moment, the extent of her feelings for Millie, and how genuinely her heart had seemed to be waiting for a time after the War where they might be equals, where she could have the opportunity to show a little more of herself to the younger woman, to share more with her than conversations about Scottish weather and poor-quality cake. The fact was that seeing her with Susan Havers – a fiercely intelligent girl, certainly likeable enough, in a shy sort of way – had made Jean felt as if something had been taken from her. She had no claim on Millie, she was very aware of that, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, for the other woman and for what she had imagined they could be, together.

She was hurt, too, a frustrated, furious kind that felt like it might consume her entirely, which she hoped she could get out of her system by smashing around the hut, forcefully slamming the cabinet shut as she carefully filed away the paperwork Millie and Susan seemed to have been working on before they got _distracted_ (it wouldn’t do for the work to be lost, imagine if there were implications on the War because of Jean’s pettiness) and, in a moment she would rather forget, gripping a pencil so hard it snapped.

Once she locked up the hut and made her way back to her room, she was less angry but instead felt quite consumed with sadness, unable to stop thinking about the obvious devotion with which Millie had defended Susan – the way she had offered to take the blame for what was quite clearly the actions of two willing participants and how she had encouraged the young woman out of the hut. She imagined them at that moment, Millie holding Susan whilst she cried, or at least wanting to, and it made her feel all the more upset when a couple of rogue tears made their way onto her cheeks before she brushed them roughly away.

It was a truly devastating feeling, Jean had discovered, to realise that you loved someone at exactly the same moment that you realised they didn’t love you.

She lay down on the bed in her clothes, trying not to think about the next day.

*

Jean, by no great surprise, did not sleep well, the events of the latter part of the evening being a buzzing in her brain that she couldn’t quite rid herself of. When she did drift off, she awoke several times feeling unsettled until she remembered what had happened with a sinking feeling, and when she looked at her bedside clock and it was 5am she decided to give up. 

She continued to think about it all as she dressed, changing out of her outfit from the party, which felt like it had happened weeks ago, and into a fresh set of work clothes. They should both be sacked, she knew. It wasn’t even her decision, she should, all good conscience, report them to her superiors who would, without a doubt, sack them, probably alongside some crude remarks about how they would have liked to have watched. Never mind that Millie and Susan were two of the best they had on the team, in different ways – Millie's ability with languages was unparalleled and Susan could spot patterns that hadn’t even intentionally been left. Just last week she had been able to infer that three encoded messages that seemed entirely separate in fact referred to the same thing, because of a turn of phrase that anyone else would have overlooked. 

The rules were important to Jean, but so was justice, and so was winning the bloody War. What was the justification, really, for losing two of her best girls over something so _inconsequential_ and so _unfair_? What if the loss of their specific skills had an impact on the performance of the whole operation? It hardly seemed worth it. And what they had done was _inappropriate_ , certainly, but it wasn’t illegal (this was a fact she had held dear to her heart since she first realised what she was – somehow being socially unacceptable was more bearable when she also knew she wasn’t a criminal).

Despite her tiredness, she wracked her brain for bias. Was she making this decision because of her own feelings about Millie? Would she be doing the same thing if it was another of the girls? After some thought, she concluded that she probably would. If anything, without the additional resentment caused by her own feelings, she might have even been more sympathetic – still stern, of course, but less combative. 

She didn’t have to wait long after making her choice to deliver it. When she opened the door of her room Millie, who was slumped against the wall opposite, jumped to her feet. Her eyes were bloodshot, Jean assumed from tiredness, the idea of Millie crying felt too strange (and in some sense, too painful) to consider.

“Miss McBrian, good morning, I-,” Millie said.

“How can I help, Millie?” Jean said calmly as she locked the door and put the key in her pocket. She made a show of glancing at her watch. “This is very early for you.”

Millie frowned. “Miss McBrian, about last night, I just wanted to say -,” she said.

Jean cut her off before, presumably, she launched into her defence of Susan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear,” she said.

“But, we-” Millie said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jean repeated. “Do I make myself clear?”

Millie’s body sagged in relief. “Yes, Miss McBrian,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Now, if you have any sense at all you’ll get yourself fed and get down to the hut,” Jean said. “At this rate you might even be on time this morning, and Lord knows that would be a turn out for the books.”

Jean watched Millie disappear off down the corridor and tried to feel authoritative rather than wistful.


	18. Eighteen

_London, 1948_

“Been anywhere nice?” said a voice as Millie rounded the corner to the street she lived on.

She looked up to see Jasper sitting on the wall outside, smoking a cigarette.

“This could be perceived as creepy behaviour, you know,” she said.

Jasper shrugged. “I was in the area,” he said. “Mary sent me on an errand to speak to a supplier, keep me out of trouble, you know.”

“I have no doubt that’s quite impossible,” Millie said.

“It’s why you like me,” Jasper said. “We’re kindred spirits.”

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Is this a marriage proposal? Did you go back and buy that ring from the jeweller’s?” she said.

“No worries on that front. I know your heart belongs to another,” Jasper said. “How _is_ Jean? I assume that’s where you’re coming back from wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

Millie frowned, both not in the mood for Jasper’s teasing sure she had tidied herself up _enough_ before leaving Jean’s that it shouldn’t have been obvious that she hadn’t been home. “What makes you say that?” she said.

“Your stockings are laddered,” Jasper said matter-of-factly.

Millie did a quick visual inspection of her stockings and looked up, intending to tell Jasper he must be seeing things, before she saw the amused look on his face.

“Made you look,” Jasper said.

Millie rolled her eyes and reached forwards to playfully hit him.

“Wait here, I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said.

On getting into her flat, aware of her usual failings with timekeeping, Millie made a distinct effort to keep to her word. She knew that strictly speaking she needed to have a bath but settled for having quick wash and giving herself a spritz of perfume, hoping as she did so that it would disguise the smell of sex. As she dressed, she steadfastly avoided looking in the mirror, and pushed herself to put everything about the previous twenty-four hours out of her mind, even as she put on fresh underwear and found that the material rubbed not entirely pleasantly on her inflamed skin. She selected a dress from the bottom of her chest of drawers - a red sequinned one she had got before the War - and slipped it on, matching it with a pair of patent red shoes and the same coat she had just taken off. She applied her lipstick and changed her jewellery, opting for her new ruby pendant and steadfastly ignoring the other jewellery box next to it on the shelf. She left the flat twice, having to turn back at the foot of the stairs the first time to deposit her dirty knickers which she had neglected to take out of her coat pocket, but she was still back outside considerably quicker than even she had expected.

“As if you’re ready,” Jasper said when she got downstairs.

“It doesn’t take much when you look like this,” Millie said jovially, gesturing towards her face with both hands.

“There are certainly many who would agree,” Jasper said, as they started their walk towards that day’s hotel.

“I’m serious Jasper, do not start again,” Millie said in a warning tone.

Jasper held his hands up. “I think you’ll find that I didn’t say anything, that was all you that time,” he said.

Millie made a disgruntled noise, not prepared to admit he was right, that it was her mind that had gone instinctively to Jean. She couldn’t help but wonder, especially in the light of the latter part of their interaction that weekend, about the extent to which Jean had any specific interest in her, whether she would be someone who agreed that Millie had a nice face. Jean called her pretty alongside calling her clever and good, but perhaps that was just as much about her being in role as the times she was berating and punishing her. All she knew for sure was that Jean was enthusiastic about having sex with her; her motivations beyond that were a mystery, as Millie had been repeatedly finding out as she attempted to navigate their closeness.

“Are you still with me?” Jasper asked.

Millie jolted out of her thoughts, feeling her cheeks pinken.

“What? Yes,” Millie said. “What were you saying?”

“I was talking about the plan,” Jasper said, clearly tempted to call Millie out more thoroughly for not listening but deciding not to. “It would be great if we could make some decent sales today. I have it on good authority that the warehouse, as it were, is overflowing with nylons right now.”

“Funny how there can be so many pairs just sitting there when the shops can’t seem to get hold of them,” Millie said. “Did you hear about the queues outside Selfridges last time they had some?”

Jasper shrugged. “Criminals are always a few steps ahead; it’s how they _stay_ criminals,” he said. “Well, successful ones, at least.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” Millie said, allowing herself to again brush off thoughts of who was at the end of the chain she was a part of.

“I think it’s best you play it that you’re wearing some, talk about how comfortable they are or something, whatever women do,” Jasper said.

Millie raised her eyebrows.

“Stick to the ciggies, please,” she said. “Your sales pitch on the stockings needs work.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Jasper said.

“Neither was it that _good_ ,” Millie replied. “I can handle it.”

She saw Jasper make a face at her out of the corner of her eye, and moved to elbow him, which he dodged.

They walked in companionable silence for the rest of the journey, but for Jasper occasionally pointing out an interesting bird, something which, owing to his level of knowledge, quickly became apparent to Millie was more than a casual interest for him.

“Is there no end to the surprises with you?” Millie said in a low voice as they approached the hotel. “Low level criminal, lesbian ally and bird watcher. What else are you hiding?”

“Wait until you see me on a trapeze,” Jasper said. “I’m joking. Maybe.”

They walked into the hotel arm-in-arm and made their way through to the bar.

“Don’t we just look the very picture of heterosexual bliss,” Millie said under her breath, catching sight of them in a reflection from a window.

“Quite beyond suspicion,” Jasper said, offering his hand with a slight flourish to take Millie’s coat. “Apart from the obvious question that’s on everyone’s lips about how you managed to get as good-looking a guy as me.”

“Obviously,” Millie said, rolling her eyes.

Millie surveyed the room as Jasper went to deposit their coats and was relieved to see there was no sign of Vanessa. There hadn’t been since that first time, and the odds were small that she would be around in any case, as she lived outside London and wasn’t much into the scene in the city. Still, she never could quite put anything past Vanessa, especially if getting her to go to Sunday lunch had become her pet project. She did, however, spot Anne, who made something of a beeline for her when she saw her.

“Millie, darling,” Anne said. She moved towards her and they greeted each other with kisses. “I hope you don’t mind me coming over like this? I’m not intruding?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Millie said.

“It’s just, I saw the most exceptional performance in the week,” Anne said. “A violin quartet, young men, all ex-soldiers, really very good, probably even better than the group that played here last week. They play in The Essex, you should go along some time.”

“That sounds wonderful, I will certainly bear it in mind,” Millie said, reaching for a cocktail from a tray carried by a passing waiter.

“You’ll love them, darling, I’m sure,” Anne said, before leaning in closer to Millie. “As much as I loved that perfume you got hold of for me. Tell me, I’ve heard rumours that it’s possible to acquire nylons in a similar way, would you know anything about that?”

“It’s funny you should ask,” Millie replied. “I happen to have just today found out there _are_ a few pairs around...”

Within less than an hour, she had sold stockings not only to Anne, but to a modest number of friends she had brought over, happy to vouch for Millie. They said goodbye in the same way as they had greeted each other, like old friends, and Millie spent the remainder of their time at the hotel dancing with Jasper in between making small talk with various women who struck her as likely future customers.

Later, having been walked home by Jasper as usual, Millie sat in the water of her much-needed bath and reflected. She was a little bit richer than when she had woken up that morning but, more importantly (and in spite of the confusion with Jean), felt for the first time since she had returned from her travels as if she might, tentatively, be finding her way.


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, I'm so pleased people are enjoying the story! <3
> 
> You get to meet some more of the Harcourts in this chapter, you lucky things!

_London, 1948_

The weeks for Millie began to form a familiar pattern of the kind she would have said five years ago she despised but had come, it seemed, to crave.

She had finally given up looking for a ‘proper’ job, choosing instead to rely on her black-market escapades that were not only proving to be a money-spinner, but also meant that she didn’t have to give hours of her time over to keeping a slimy café boss sweet. She spent a few evenings a week with Jasper and had built a steady group of customers, most stemming in one way or another from that first conversation with Anne, with her friends and friends of her friends coming to her for their elicit luxuries.

She went for occasional lunches with Laura and the others, in part because they inadvertently gave her tips on where to go to sell. She had settled on letting them think that Jasper was a kind of beau, to save the explanations about why they were always out together, the beauty of upper-class snobbishness meaning that even the nicest of them hadn’t paid enough attention to the waiters on the day of Belinda’s birthday party to realise he was the same man.

Her Saturday evenings were spent with Jean, and she tried as much as possible to take those times for what they were – bloody good sex – and take a step back from the emotional closeness they seemed to have been building. It was easier said than done, certainly; the desire to hold Jean just a little longer, press one more kiss to her lips before she got up to make the tea was a frequent temptation, but as far as she was concerned Jean had made her intentions clear. Jean McBrian didn’t play games, if she wanted something other than what they had she would say, and it was with that in mind that Millie frequently refocussed, pushing thoughts of _more_ away.

Friday nights when she wasn’t out with Jasper amongst the wealthy and ethically dubious were generally spent at The Spinning Wheel. Usually Jasper was banished to the flat upstairs, at least until a little later in the night when it was quiet enough that Mary allowed him in to share a drink with them. Millie had got increasingly fond of Mary. She was, in lots of ways, like a female version of Jasper – they had a shared sense of humour and a similar way of telling it exactly as it was, although with Mary some of that had clearly been weathered away by the hardships she had faced. Where Jasper was relaxed, his sister was more cautious and inclined to be spiky at times, but on the whole she was pleasant to be around and could be relied upon for easy company and good advice, as well as a solid supply of gin. Dorothy, too, had come to be something of a friend to Millie, having straightforwardly accepted her refusal of a date and moved on to giving her impromptu piano lessons of an evening.

She had been able to avoid her family since the unexpected meeting with Vanessa at the hotel; that was, until she received a telephone call one evening in which (after quite pointedly asking “ _How did you get this number_?”) she had been given a specific date to go to Sunday lunch, and the implication that it wasn’t so much a casual invitation as it was an expectation. That had been quite enough to make her want to hang up the phone, and she was only stopped by Vanessa saying in a small voice that Millie was sure she hadn’t heard since their childhood “Please, Millie?”.

That was how she came to be sitting around the dining table in her childhood home in Surrey one Sunday, rather than in a fancy hotel with Jasper drinking champagne cocktails and flogging perfume to rich women who hoped a bit of scent would stop their husbands straying. There were similarities in the atmosphere, admittedly – the music playing in the background was much the same and the topics of conversation almost identical, aside from the fact that she didn’t have to turn them around to business – but there was a stark contrast in how they made Millie _feel_. In the hotels she was powerful and well-liked; in her parents’ house she was very much on the back foot and surrounded by people to whom she had rarely been anything but a disappointment.

She had wanted to turn and leave from almost the moment she had stepped through the door.

“Camilla, darling,” her mother had said, approaching to kiss her on both cheeks. “You didn’t forget where the house was, then?”

“No, Mother, I didn’t forget,” Millie had said.

“Oh,” her mother had replied. “That seemed the only possible explanation for why someone wouldn’t visit their parents for so long, outside of wartime.”

Vanessa had been a surprisingly efficient ally.

“Mother, let’s not seize upon Camilla as soon as she arrives. She’s here now,” she had said. “Millie, darling, do come through and meet David, when you’re ready.”

David turned out to be, in Millie’s opinion, nothing to make a fuss about, but he seemed reasonable and a good match for Vanessa. They had a vaguely interesting conversation about his work; he was a pilot and travel offered them some common ground. Following that, she managed to greet her father in an uneventful way, and had a straightforward, if high volume, exchange with her grandmother.

Millie had been able to tolerate it much better than expected until the conversation over lunch.

“Did you hear the good news, Camilla?” her mother said. “I don’t expect you would have done; you won’t have been in the right circles.”

It was quite obvious to Millie that her mother was more interested in making the jibe about the apparent _quality_ of the circles she was mixing in than she was in passing on the news, under the misguided impression that she cared about that whatsoever. Even as a child, the extent of her considerations about who she was spending time with were largely limited to confusion that some children didn’t have horses or go to boarding school, no matter how many adults tried to persuade her towards more _appropriate_ company. She suppressed a smirk, thinking about who she did spend most of her time with – criminals and queers, including the bossy daughter of a Scottish socialist - and how they probably couldn’t be less like what her mother would deem suitable (never mind the fact that Millie was a criminal and a queer herself – she was a Harcourt first, to her family).

“Oh, I am quite sure I haven’t been, Mother,” Millie said. “Do share this news you are so concerned about my being aware of.”

Millie’s mother couldn’t possibly have missed the sarcasm in her voice, but she glossed over it regardless. “Your Aunt Rebecca is getting married!” she said cheerfully.

Aunt Rebecca was a misnomer in the sense that she wasn’t actually related to Millie by blood. Rather; she was an old school friend of her mother’s who had been a constant presence in her life, to the point that whilst the original friendship was no longer a significant one, she was part of their extended family regardless. Rebecca had been a role model of Millie’s as an adolescent, having been unmarried, unburdened with children, concerned with doing exactly as she pleased and a constant source of encouragement to Millie to do the same. It had taken a few years for the penny to drop for Millie that Rebecca was like her (or, rather, that she was like Rebecca), that her faithful friend Diana was her lover.

Millie frowned. “Married? To a man?” she said.

She heard nervous laughter around the table, just about audible over the sound of David’s heartier expression of amusement, which marked him out as new to the family.

“Of course to a man, Camilla, who else could she be marrying?” Millie’s mother asked.

“But what about Diana?” Millie said.

“Married ladies can have friends, you know,” Millie’s mother said.

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” Millie said.

Millie’s mother sighed, and rested her fork on the side of her plate for a moment. “Camilla, darling, please don’t start on this silliness again,” she said. “Especially not in front of your grandmother.” She nodded towards the end of the table, as if Millie might have forgotten that the matriarch was sitting there.

Millie felt, as she always did around her mother, like an unjustly scolded child - belittled and patronised and made to question her own understanding of reality. Every part of her wanted to shout and storm off, in the way that so many family dinners had ended over the years, but she reminded herself of her resolution to give it a fair chance. She turned away from her mother and looked instead at Vanessa.

“How are the wedding plans coming along?” she asked.

Vanessa looked like she might spit out her mouthful of wine in shock.

“Yes, fine, thank you. We’re still trying to organise a cake, which is tricky with rationing and so on,” she said, after she had recovered herself.

“It is rather preposterous that one simply can’t buy more sugar for a special occasion, especially if one has the funds to pay a handsome price,” David said.

“Well, there are a lot of special occasions,” Millie said, forcing herself to smile. “They can’t dish out extra sugar for all of them.”

“But if it can be paid for, it’s in the interests of businesses, surely?” David said.

Millie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew she some was something of a hypocrite, involved as she was in getting items in limited supply to people based on their ability to pay, but there seemed to her to be a significant difference between over-charging rich people for a bottle of French perfume and to suggesting that food in short supply should go to whoever could throw the most money at it.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way around it,” she said pleasantly.

“Perhaps you’ll be next, Camilla,” said Millie’s grandmother in a loud voice. “In getting married, I mean. It’s about time.”

Millie laughed, the warning look her mother shot at her from across the table only spurring her on.

“Married life is not for me, Granny,” she said back, also speaking up.

“Oh, I used to say that before I met your grandfather,” her grandmother said. “You’ll find the right one eventually.”

“I’m quite sure I won’t,” Millie said firmly, although she was a little distracted as she spoke as the concept of being married to _Jean_ entered her head. It was an impossibility several times over, so it was nothing more than a passing thought really, but a surprisingly _pleasant_ passing thought.

“Oh, Camilla,” Millie’s mother said. “Would you _stop this_? We’re just trying to have a nice lunch.”

Millie’s eyes widened. “Will _I_ stop this? _I_ have come to visit you all – against my better judgement, I might add – and not one of you will bloody stop going on about something I have been clear on for well over a decade now. I will never find a man and settle down, and I am so sick of having to repeat that fact,” she said. “I am not asking you to approve or to understand, I am just asking you to _shut up_.”

“Camilla,” Millie’s mother hissed. “Your grandmother.”

“I don’t _bloody_ care,” Millie said. She stood up from her chair, snatched up the wine bottle and her glass and stormed out of the room.

She was sitting on a bench a few yards from the back of the house, looking after the land, when she felt the seat dip and Vanessa sat down next to her, a little out of breath.

“It’s not bad, is it?” Vanessa said, gesturing towards the wine. “David has family in France. It’s from their vineyard.”

“It doesn’t taste quite so sour out here,” Millie said, taking a sip.

“ _Millie_ ,” Vanessa said.

“You know, it would be quite lovely to go just five minutes without hearing my name delivered in a reprimanding tone,” Millie snapped.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Vanessa said. “I only meant... I do rather wish it wasn’t like this always.”

“You think I don’t?” Millie said. “You think I wouldn’t prefer peaceful Sunday visits with my family to all this?”

“But that’s what I don’t understand,” Vanessa said, with a sigh.

Millie frowned. “What is?” she said.

“You could _have_ that, Millie. We could have that. You just have to -,” she said.

“Pretend to be someone I’m not?” Millie said.

“You make it sound like it’s so awful, not to -,” Vanessa said.

“Not to talk about anything – or _anyone_ \- that’s important to me? It is, rather,” Millie said.

“So, what’s the solution? You just walk away like all the other times?” Vanessa said.

“No, not like all the other times,” Millie said, looking away from her sister. “For good.”

“You’re not being sensible,” Vanessa said. “You only have to tolerate it a couple of times a year.”

“I'm glad it’s only a couple of times a year I have to pretend to be a totally different person and see how much that delights everyone,” Millie said.

“In exchange for never having to work in another dingy café or doing goodness knows what else you’ve been doing to make money,” Vanessa said. “You could do as you liked. You would just have to keep _private things_ private.”

Millie knew that was no faulting the other woman’s logic – if she could learn to bite her tongue, for what amounted to little more than a few hours a year, she could have a good life, or at least certainly one in which she wouldn’t have to worry about money. The cost, though – concealing herself more than she was already required to with those who were supposed to love her the most, the weight of expectations and respectability which she knew would suffocate her slowly. It wasn’t a choice, not really. She would rather spend her life doing whatever it took to make ends meet than feeling indebted to her parents and this world.

“I can’t,” Millie said simply. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and offered one to Vanessa.

The sisters smoked in silence, both of them looking into the distance, over the playground of their childhood.

“Do you remember when we found that injured bird, and we decided we were going to tend to it?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes,” Millie said. “We took it up to the treehouse and prepared a little bed for it, and I decided that I was going to sneak out in the night to keep watch over it. Then you told Mother.”

“I was afraid you were going to get into trouble,” Vanessa said.

“No one was ever going to stop that,” Millie said, stubbing out her cigarette on the bench and throwing the end on the floor.

“Take care, Millie,” Vanessa said.

“You too,” Millie said. She thought about saying something like ‘ _You know where I am_ ’ but decided that would only make everything more difficult, leave the edges raw and messy when she needed things clean.

As she walked out the gardens, going around the outside of the house, she felt a sense of finality in her decision that it was only then apparent had been missing the times she had left previously. She walked to the station on her own, took the train back into London on her own, and spent the evening in her flat on her own, feeling somehow more devastated than she had that evening almost a decade before.


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Millie's having a hard time here, folks. It's smutty, with some restraint stuff, and also brief choking/breath play, but in the context of Millie being quite sad.

_London, 1948_

Despite the fact that almost a week had passed since Millie had left her parents’ home, the dark cloud hanging over her hadn’t truly lifted. She had spent the week alone, drinking and chain-smoking and rearranging the furniture in her flat several times, only to eventually return it to how it had been to begin with. She didn’t go to the telephone when it rang for her, no matter how many times her neighbour said it was “a gentleman for her” and she knew that it was Jasper, and that getting out would almost certainly help.

She was a couple of drinks in when she arrived at Jean’s, consumed partly out of habit and partly in the hope it would make her seem as if she was less of a mess than she felt.

“How was your week, dear?” Jean asked.

Millie snorted derisively. “Nothing that won’t be fixed by getting quite thoroughly fucked,” she said. “Yours?”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “The usual, really,” she said. “I’ll assume you don’t want tea first?”

Millie answered her with a kiss, in which she started dominantly but soon gave way to let the other woman take control, Jean gripping her hips so their bodies were pressed tight together and flicking her tongue into her mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Millie breathed out when they broke away, feeling just a moment of relief from the dull tension in her body. “No, I mean... I don’t want tea.”

Jean nodded in the direction of the bedroom (she had favoured it as a location in recent weeks, which Millie found surprising but not unwelcome), and after trying and failing to prise Millie’s mouth from hers they walked, entangled, through the living room, pausing when the back of Millie’s knees hit the edge of the bed.

Millie broke away enough to look at Jean.

“Please don’t be gentle with me,” she said.

She saw Jean’s eyes darken before the other woman shook her head and spoke.

“Are quite sure you’re okay, dear?” Jean said.

“No,” Millie replied. “But I am quite sure I need this.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she put Jean’s hands on her shoulders, an invitation to continue which was accepted when the other woman pushed her backwards so she was laying on the bed. Jean quickly joined her, straddling Millie and pinning her wrists above her head, causing Millie to let out a deep moan at the feeling of restraint.

“I thought you might like that,” Jean said, putting just a little more weight through her hands and smiling at the sound of Millie’s gasp.

They stayed like that for a while, Millie feeling Jean’s lips on her mouth and neck and shoulders as she wriggled against the grip, whining with disappointment when the other woman let go with one hand.

“I do only have two hands,” Jean pointed out.

“More’s the pity,” Millie said.

She soon accepted the change of configuration, however, as Jean’s hand slid down her body, stopping to pull roughly at a breast before slipping under her dress and scratching lightly up her thigh.

“I believe you’ve said what you want already,” Jean said, raising her head to look at her. “But I’d like to hear it again.”

“I want you,” Millie said.

Jean raised her eyebrows.

“You know I need better than that, girl,” she said firmly, following her words with the lightest, most teasing touch to Millie’s clit through her knickers.

Millie moaned softly, a flood of arousal going through her.

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers, Jean,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

There was more she didn’t say aloud but which flowed through her mind; _fuck me until I forget, until I’m good enough, so I feel less alone in the world, just for a moment..._

Jean let out a deep, shuddering breath.

“Good girl,” she said, reaching down to press a kiss to Millie’s throat. “You please me very much.”

The absolute bliss those words brought about felt keener than usual, and Millie moaned quite helplessly, a noise that continued as Jean reached up her skirt to pull down her knickers. The other woman moved so Millie could kick them off before returning to straddle her, pushing down on the hand restraining her at the same time as she slipped two fingers inside her.

Millie cried out again and closed her eyes, settling in to rock her hips to meet Jean’s hand. Jean leaned forwards, kissing her a few times as they moved together.

“More,” Millie panted, and then quickly added. “Please.”

Jean kissed her once more before releasing Millie’s hand and pulling herself up onto her knees. She added another finger and at the same time increased the speed of her thrusts, watching as Millie’s expression changed again.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Millie said. “Yes.”

She gripped at the blankets and jerked her hips to meet Jean’s hand, soon starting to moan with each stroke. She reached up for Jean’s other hand, causing the other woman to shift her weight again. She lifted Jean’s hand to her mouth and kissed the palm between ragged breaths before dragging it down her face and pressing it against her throat. Everything in her brain felt hazy with arousal, but the idea of _this_ , of Jean squeezing the breath out of her as she fucked her, felt _right_ and _necessary_. She was desperate to experience that trance-like feeling from a few weeks before, to be taken out of her own mind, and remade, anew. She curled her hand over Jean’s and pushed down again, demonstrating what she wanted. Jean gave a gentle squeeze, which was somewhat satisfying but not enough.

“More,” Millie said. She was _so close_ from Jean’s movements between her legs, she was ready to tip over the edge, she just wanted to feel this as she did.

Jean squeezed tentatively again before pulling her hand away.

“Enigma,” Jean said quickly, and then, when Millie continued to snatch at her hand. “Millie, _stop_.”

The tone of Jean’s voice brought Millie back to the reality of the moment, disoriented and confused.

“What? Why?” she said, shuddering at the loss as Jean delicately withdrew her fingers.

“It might not have occurred to you, Millie, but I don’t actually want to choke you to death, even if it seemed like you would have had a jolly good time in the process,” Jean said.

Millie frowned. “You wouldn’t have-,” she said, struggling to form words to such an extent that she was almost grateful to be interrupted by Jean.

“How would I have known if it was too much?” Jean said. “We hadn’t talked about how you would tell me, dear. I couldn’t know for sure what was safe.”

“But, it’s what I _need_ ,” Millie said, knowing really that it was both unfair and useless to attempt to use Jean’s previous confession to manipulate her like this, but hearing the words fall from her mouth nevertheless.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jean said.

“It hasn’t seemed to have bothered you before,” Millie snapped back.

“I think you know quite well why that was different,” Jean said calmly.

Millie knew that Jean was being entirely reasonable, quite unshakeably _Jean_. She knew logically that the situation wasn’t a rejection, and didn’t need to be an argument, but it felt like both – confirmation she was destined to ruin the delicate arrangement they had because of her impulsiveness.

She started to cry; big, ugly tears entirely devoid of dignity. She was vaguely aware of Jean’s voice asking what was wrong, sounding a little lost, and then felt humiliated and embarrassed for crying in front of her, but she found that the more humiliated and embarrassed she felt, the more she cried.

All the thoughts that she usually had privately in moments like these ( _you’re difficult and worthless and an oddity, you'll never amount to anything, you're an embarrassment_ ) came spilling out of her mouth entirely without her consent. When she processed the fact that she had spoken out loud she stood up, scrambling around the room for her clothes.

“I need to go now,” she said, attempting to push her shaking arms through the sleeves of her blouse.

“Millie, you-,” Jean said. “You’re in a state.”

“I'm going,” Millie said.

“I won’t let you leave like this,” Jean said firmly, taking a step in front of the bedroom door.

“What are you going to do?” Millie said fiercely. She took a step forward, registered with horror that she was _squaring up to Jean_ and then crumpled into the other woman’s arms, sobbing.

Millie felt herself be led back to the bed, and pulled gently into Jean’s chest, the other woman rubbing soothing circles on her back as she cried. Once the tears slowed, and then stopped, Jean pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of her head and Millie allowed herself to be held whilst she recovered.

Jean, it seemed, was content not to have an explanation, and Millie, with her red eyes pressed against the wool of Jean’s cardigan, found herself deeply grateful for that.


	21. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks for reading everyone!
> 
> There's some brief homophobic/misogynist nonsense in here, and an incident of mild violence.

_London, 1948_

Millie and Jasper walked in a dignified way down the steps of the hotel and a little way along the road before they turned into an alley and promptly started celebrating.

“Miss Harcourt, you surpassed yourself today! Your brief absence has not made a dent in your skills,” Jasper said, taking her by the hand and spinning her around, as if they were dancing. “Is it too much if I shower you with cash?”

“It might attract some attention,” Millie said, letting go of his hand as they started to walk on. “I really _did_ do well today, though.”

“I’m so proud of your criminal development, you’ve come such a long way,” Jasper said.

Millie jovially hit him on the arm. Persistent embarrassment about her behaviour notwithstanding, she had been in a much brighter mood following her visit to Jean’s, having got the catharsis she needed, albeit not as she had anticipated. She hadn’t _talked_ about how she felt, but she had rested her head in Jean’s lap and felt the older woman play with her curls, and afterwards Jean had made her tea with whiskey in it and told her to “ _take care, please_ ” when it was time to go.

She pulled out her cigarettes and lit one, doing the same for Jasper before dropping the match to the floor.

“Drink?” she said. “I know a great place.”

Jasper checked his watch. “That sister of mine might let me in, that is, if there’s not a huge amount of _activity_ going on,” he said.

“Just you wait until I walk in and the girls see me,” Millie said, a bit giddy with her success and enjoying their banter. “Then there might be some _activity_.”

“And what would Jean have to say about that?” Jasper said.

Millie rolled her eyes and flicked ash off the end of her cigarette. “Do you have any other jokes?” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s my fault, I used the J-word,” Jasper said.

“I take it back, I absolutely meant to snap,” Millie said.

Jasper laughed and dropped his cigarette on the floor, stamping it out.

Millie took a last drag of hers before copying his actions.

They walked through the backstreets, making casual conversation as they went, until they got to The Spinning Wheel. The area around the bar was busier than usual, full with some young couples and a few men, probably around Jasper’s age.

Dorothy was standing outside the door as usual, this time accompanied by a younger woman dressed quite uncannily similar to her.

“Evenin’, folks,” Dorothy said. “This is Evey, my apprentice.”

“Evenin’,” Evey said.

“How do you have an apprentice when you’re not even employed?” Jasper said under his breath, as Dorothy launched into an explanation about the protocol for gentlemen.

“-So you have to ask the boss, like so,” Dorothy said. She opened the door and hollered inside. “Mary, is your brother alright tonight?”

“He’s never alright,” Mary shot back. “But he can come in.”

“You’re in,” Dorothy said. “But I’m watching you.” She looked pointedly at Jasper.

“Never _once_ have I misbehaved in here,” Jasper complained, as he led Millie to the table a little out of the way in the corner.

“How could you, with the threat of being literally sent to bed if you did?” Millie said. “Gin?”

“Whatever she’ll let me have,” Jasper said, a little louder than necessary.

“My heart bleeds for you,” Millie said, as she got up to go to the bar.

“Just to warn you, darlin’, we’re on home brew if you’re after gin,” Mary said as she approached. “Supply issues.”

“Surely there’s no need for a warning, dear, I’ve heard it’s great stuff,” a voice behind them said.

Millie span around to find herself face-to-face with Jean, and took a step back.

“Are you supplying the gin?” she said, amused.

“Well, I’ve no idea where you’d get an idea like that,” Jean said.

The words were followed with a wink which made Millie think her legs were going to give out from under her. She looked back at Mary.

“Gin sounds good. One for your demon brother too, please,” she said.

As Mary started rummaging behind the bar, fetching glasses, Millie felt Jean’s arm brush against hers as she moved to stand a little closer.

“I hope it’s not strange for you to see me here, dear,” Jean said in a low voice.

“Why would it be strange?” Millie said, in a blasé way that didn’t reflect how she actually felt. She was confused not to be greeting Jean with a kiss, although it wouldn’t have felt right to kiss her either, and confused to be seeing her unexpectedly, in public, when their previous encounter had been so vulnerable.

“I thought it was better to come and speak to you than to lurk in the shadows, regardless,” Jean said.

“I appreciate that,” Millie said. “After all, who knows what gossiping I might have been doing without knowing you were there.”

Jean raised her eyebrows.

“I’m joking, of course,” Millie said, vaguely aware of Dorothy passing her, presumably to use the bathroom. “It’s good to see you, anyway.”

Jean didn’t quite meet her eye. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said.

Millie looked at Jean out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see if she would look at her, but they both stayed mostly facing the bar. When the tension finally got too much, Millie started to speak.

“Jean, I-,” she said, but she was interrupted by the sound of someone stumbling through the doorway.

The entrant was a young man, clean-shaven and with a strong jaw who Millie supposed was probably reasonably handsome when he wasn’t, as he seemed to be now, entirely drunk.

“What’s all this, then?” he said, casting his eyes around the bar. “Private party?”

A tenseness fell throughout the room, with everyone sitting up a little straighter and avoiding looking in his direction.

“You’re all very shy, aren’t you?” he said, as he stumbled around.

Millie glanced sideways and, not seeing Mary, felt a sense of responsibility for managing the situation. She was afraid of him approaching her, but was perhaps more afraid of him intimidating anyone else. She made her stance a little wider, instinctively positioning herself more fully in front of Jean.

She watched him looking around at the clientele, and saw the exact moment where he seemed to work it out.

He laughed loudly. “It’s never a lezzer bar, is it?” he said. “What’s up, ladies, never found the right one?” As he spoke, he edged closer to the girl sitting nearest the door, who recoiled in fear.

“Leave her alone,” Millie said.

She stepped forwards, but she might as well have said nothing, because the man completely ignored her, preoccupied as he was with vocalising the thoughts going through his mind.

“Let me get my girl for you, she’ll tell you what a good dick is like,” he said, taking a few steps towards the doorway. “Come here, my love,” he said.

As he pulled the girl in, Millie could hear the sound of protesting _(“_ _Harry, no, what are you doing_?”). He dragged her into the light, and Millie turned and locked eyes with Jean.

It was Lucy. Sweet, gentle, Lucy Davis, the youngest girl at Bletchley and one of the most brilliant, was stood to the side of this obnoxious man, nervously readjusting her cardigan which had been pulled askew by his handling of her.

“Harry, stop it,” Lucy said, in a soft, confused tone. “Why are you being like this?”

“They’re lesbians,” Harry said bluntly.

The way he gestured to the room made him look a little bit like a tour guide, and in any other situation Millie would have laughed.

“Right, that’s enough now, fella,” Jasper said, appearing from his table in the corner and trying to take Harry’s arm to lead him out.

Harry’s mouth opened wide. “How much did you have to pay to get in here? Do they let you watch?” He pulled out his wallet and a number of notes fell to the floor. “I can pay too, though I’m not much interested in anything involving _her_ , she’s not to my tastes.” He gestured towards Jean.

Millie moved the smallest amount, bracing herself to respond in Jean’s defence ( _“You’re lucky to even be allowed to look at her, you pathetic loser!”_ ) when she felt the other woman’s hand on the small of her back. Jean didn’t speak, but Millie felt sure of her meaning, anyway ( _“Quiet, now”_ ) and stayed silent.

“I can’t say I’m disappointed you’re not interested, dear,” Jean said drily, seemingly willing to put herself in the kind of danger she wasn’t prepared to let Millie volunteer for. “You’re not exactly my type.”

Lucy looked up and caught Millie’s eye at the same time as Harry lunged forwards towards the older woman. Millie put her arms out to the sides, covering Jean, knowing she was not exactly adept at fighting but she could do something to shield her, at least. Lucy pulled fruitlessly at Harry, her tiny frame making little impact on his movements, whilst Jasper pushed him back and attempted to hold him.

The back door opened and Mary and Dorothy walked in and surveyed the scene.

“If you leave now, there won’t be any trouble,” Mary said as she approached Harry.

The younger man snorted, still struggling against Jasper’s hold on him.

“I don’t think you understood me,” Mary said. “Get out.”

“You going to make me?” Harry said leeringly, his face close to hers, an intimidation tactic that was undermined somewhat by the fact that he was to some extent restrained and Mary had willingly moved towards him.

“Sure,” Mary said. “Jasper, let him go.”

Millie watched, conflicted, as Jasper did what he asked. She was used to him doing what Mary said, of course, but she was surprised he would be prepared to do so even then.

“Have a go,” Harry said. “Come on, give it your best.”

“Harry, no!” Lucy said, flinching as he ripped his sleeve from her hand.

Mary rolled her eyes and then, with very little warning, raised her fist and punched Harry across the face, sending him sprawling across the floor of the bar and knocking him out.

“Sorry about that, ladies,” she said after a moment, flexing her hand and examining her knuckles for injuries.

Dorothy let out a low whistle. “What a woman,” she said.

“Oh my God, is he dead?” Lucy said, looking down helplessly at Harry.

Millie stood over him as Jean got to her knees to listen to his breathing.

“He’ll be fine, dear,” Jean said. “Dare I say unfortunately.”

Millie offered Jean her hand to help her back up.

“He’s a good man,” Lucy said, rubbing at her wrists where Millie could see the beginnings of bruises. “He’s just a bit rowdy when he’s had a drink, is all.”

Millie and Jean exchanged a look.

Millie very much wanted to say “ _He’s a waste of space, darling_ ,” but felt sure both that it wouldn’t help and that Jean would disapprove.

“Strange place for a reunion, isn’t it,” she said instead.

Lucy frowned. “It is nice to see you though,” she said. “Even if-”

“It’s nice to see you too, dear,” Jean said. “You don’t need to apologise for him.”

Lucy looked very nervous before she spoke again. “Miss McBrian,” she said. “I need you to know, I haven’t _done anything_ with him, not like he said. I wouldn’t, not before we’re married.”

Millie’s heart broke a little, to think that Lucy had just encountered them in a gay bar which she had been dragged into by her clearly abusive boyfriend and her biggest concern was that they might think she had engaged in extramarital sex.

Jean looked like she was struggling for words. “Don’t you worry yourself about that,” she said, after a few moments.

“We should go for tea,” Millie said brightly, as if they had bumped into each other in the shops or somewhere equally innocuous. “The three of us, and catch up.”

“You’d welcome to both visit my flat,” Jean said. “I’ve always prided myself on being able to make a good cup of tea, as you know.”

There was a noise of grunting as Mary and Dorothy dragged Harry across the room and propped him against a table leg.

Lucy looked over, a worried expression on her face.

“How about next Saturday evening?” Millie said, suggesting the first time that came into her mind in a bid to distract Lucy, and wanting to kick herself as soon as she realised what she had done.

Millie noticed a flicker of something unidentifiable in Jean’s eyes before she spoke.

“Yes, Saturday evening would be lovely,” Jean said.

“Saturday is the 17th,” Lucy said.

“We can choose another day if you’re unavailable, dear,” Jean said.

“No, it suits me,” Lucy said tentatively. “It’s just, it’s your birthday. 17.05.07. I did personnel filing once, at Bletchley.”

Jean looked briefly taken aback. “Well remembered, naturally,” she said. “Perhaps we will have some cake, then.”

“Write down your address, Jean,” Millie said, leaning over the bar to grab a pen and paper and passing it quickly to the other woman.

Jean scribbled it down and pressed it into Lucy’s hands. “Seven o’clock? It’ll be lovely to see you,” she said.

“Yes, I-,” Lucy half-answered before turning back towards Harry.

Millie followed her gaze in time to see Dorothy throw a glass of water in his face.

He came to, spluttering. “I’ll have you for this,” he said, after a moment to take in his surroundings.

Mary laughed. “Go ahead, tell the cops you got punched by an old dyke,” she said. “I’m keeping those notes you dropped anyway, for the trouble you caused.”

Harry stumbled a little as he got to his feet and it was difficult to ascertain whether that was just down to his continued drunkenness or the impact of the punch on top of it. He pointed a finger threateningly at Mary.

“Just you wait,” he said.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” Mary said calmly.

Harry scowled. “Come on, Lucy,” he said, taking her roughly by the hand and shuffling towards the door. “Let’s go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the door closed behind them before they set about righting the place again. Dorothy went to speak to Evey, who Millie could hear apologising profusely, and Jasper started picking up the furniture which had been knocked over.

“Thinks I can’t deal with pissed up _little boys_ , goodness me,” Mary said to no one in particular. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of them, and they’re all the bloody same, always stressed by the realisation that their dick isn’t the be all and end all.”

“I can’t believe Lucy’s with a man like that,” Millie said, turning to look at Jean.

“Can’t you?” Jean said, raising her eyebrows.

Millie shrugged. “You’re right, I can, she’s precisely the kind of girl they would go for,” she said. “But I don’t like it.”

“Poor Lucy,” Jean said.

“Never mind poor Lucy for a minute,” Millie said. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, dear,” Jean said. “I don’t tend to lose sleep over men telling me they don’t want to go to bed with me.”

“I mean more the part where he tried to attack you,” Millie said. “It’s quite clear that he’s a fool and you got a lucky break that he wasn’t interested.”

Jean laughed softly. “You’d better be careful. With that and your chivalry back there, a woman can get ideas,” she said.

“I’d do it for anyone,” Millie said. It wasn’t a lie. She w _ould_ do it for anyone, or almost anyone who needed her help. That wouldn’t mean it was the same as doing it for Jean, though.

“I know,” Jean said.

They stood looking near each other for a few moments before Jean spoke again.

“Well, that is more than enough adventure for me tonight,” she said. “I should get myself home.”

“Jasper will walk you, at least to a taxi,” Millie said, speaking loudly enough that Jasper could hear her say his name.

“What am I doing now?” he asked.

“You’re going to walk Jean to her taxi,” Millie said.

“No problem,” Jasper said. “I was just saying, no one is leaving here on their own tonight. Consider me available as a bodyguard.”

“Oh, that really isn’t necessary, Jasper,” Jean said.

“Please don’t argue, I might not be allowed back into the flat tonight if I don’t help you all get home safely,” Jasper said.

Jean rolled her eyes. “Very well,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Ready when you are,” Jasper said, looking between Millie and Jean and then wandering off.

“I don’t know why he’s wandered off when I’m just coming,” Jean said.

“Surely not in here,” Millie said, raising her eyebrows. “I know Mary is very supportive of us all but I don’t think it would go as far as to permit that kind of behaviour.”

Jean tutted. “You’ve got your mind in the gutter, Millie Harcourt,” she said.

“Says you,” Millie said.

Jean raised her eyebrows. “That’s our secret,” she said. “Goodnight, Millie.” She reached up to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Jean,” Millie said, wishing she had had the nerve to ask if she had to go alone.


	22. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucy!!!!! <3 That's it, that's the note.

_London, 1948_

It felt strange to Millie, getting ready for a Saturday evening at Jean’s that she knew would be altogether different to the ones she had come to be used to. She was still kicking herself for suggesting this evening to Lucy - it wasn’t that she begrudged her at all, she was looking forward to seeing her, but she the idea of having some alone time with Jean which ended with her coming hard rather than crying hard certainly appealed. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. She dressed more modestly than she usually would to visit Jean, but when she was applying her lipstick, she chose the Raven Red.

As she grabbed her handbag her eyes moved to the jewellery box next to it, containing the hair slide she had bought for Jean during her shopping trip with Jasper. She had been to-ing and fro-ing about taking it all week - the idea of giving a gift felt all the more fraught considering her recent emotional outburst she didn’t want Jean to think she wanted more than they had – but she put it in her bag, to keep her options open.

She was running late, as ever, so had to get a taxi (thank goodness for those extra bottles of scent she had shifted the previous weekend) and knew Lucy would have arrived by the time she got there. Sure enough, when she got up to the flat it was to find the younger woman sitting on the settee, folded in on herself, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.

Millie found herself mildly distressed by the jarring sight of the quiet, polite Lucy sitting unknowingly on an item of furniture that had been the site of so much sex. She had no doubt that Jean had significant skills when it came to laundering upholstery, but it was unsettling regardless. The feelings resulting from her train of thought must have showed on her face, because when she snapped out of it and looked up again it was to see Jean watching her with a small smile.

“Happy birthday,” Millie said, considering leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek but deciding against it. “I brought you something,” she added a little awkwardly, quite contrary to her plan, and retrieved the jewellery box from her bag, thrusting it towards the other woman.

“There was no need to fuss, really,” Jean said, looking inside the box. “This is beautiful, Millie, but it’s far too much.”

“I’m sure there’s a more traditional turn of phrase when someone gives you a gift,” Millie said.

Jean rolled her eyes. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

They briefly made eye contact, before Millie turned away to hang up her coat.

“Hi, darling,” she called to Lucy, as she headed over to the settee to give her a squeeze, whilst Jean returned to the kitchen area to prepare the tea. “You made it here before me, of course.”

“Lucy could always be relied upon for good timekeeping, unlike some I could mention,” Jean said.

“I feel as if my strengths lay in other places,” Millie said.

“Like answering back, failing room inspections, so on and so forth,” Jean said.

Lucy’s eyes moved between them, smiling slightly at the easy banter between them.

“You were always very good at languages, Millie,” Lucy said quietly. “It was very helpful.”

“Thank you,” Millie said, taking a seat next to her. “I know I wasn’t half as useful and you and your extraordinary brain, but it’s good to know I wasn’t entirely useless, even if it seemed that way to some.”

“Oh, I’m sure Miss McBrian doesn’t mean that,” Lucy said.

“Jean is fine, dear,” Jean said, as she brought the tea tray to the table. “And Millie knows very well I would describe her using a lot of words, but useless is certainly not one of them.”

Millie had to actively stop her mind from focussing on what some of those words might be.

“How have you been, Lucy?” Millie said, knowing that she couldn’t listen to Lucy and daydream about Jean at the same time, and that the former task was more important.

“I’m okay,” Lucy said. “It was strange, first of all, after the War, going back to my normal life.”

Millie and Jean exchanged glances.

“Yes, it’s not been easy for anyone, I don’t think,” Millie said.

“But it’s okay,” Lucy continued. “I live with my mother still, and I have a little job in a shop. That’s where I met Harry, at work.”

“And he was irresistibly charming, of course,” Millie said sarcastically, looking up at the end of her utterance to see Jean giving her a warning stare which made her rethink. “I mean... I’m sure...”

“He wants to marry me,” Lucy said, as if she hadn’t heard Millie speak.

“And what do you think about that, dear?” Jean said gently.

Lucy shrugged. “I said yes. I thought I should. My mother likes him,” she said.

“But what do you think?” Millie pressed.

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “He’s nice to me, sometimes.”

“Lucy, dear, there will be other men who are nice to you, men who don’t do the things he does,” Jean said.

“I don’t like him when he’s drunk, when he says things like he did the other day,” Lucy said. “What a horrible thing to say, to suggest you are... _like that_.” She emphasised her final words with a whisper.

Millie and Jean looked at each other.

“Darling, that wasn’t the part we were uncomfortable about,” Millie said.

Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean he wasn’t wrong,” Millie said.

“Oh,” Lucy said. “I... I don’t mean-.”

“It’s okay to be surprised,” Millie said. “We are the same people as we always were, though.”

“You too, Miss McBrian?” Lucy asked, flushing red.

“Yes, dear,” Jean said. She looked down at her hands and Millie thought it was perhaps the only time she had seen her look ashamed. “But this really isn’t much about us.”

“He’s not a good man, Lucy,” Millie said. “And you deserve a good man.”

Lucy shrugged. “Are there any that are different?” she said.

“We’re perhaps the wrong audience for that,” Millie pointed out, and was delighted to see a very slight smile appear on Lucy’s face, though she was still red with embarrassment. “But there are better, certainly.”

Lucy considered it. “What would I do?” she said.

“Stay with your mother,” Millie said. “Get yourself a new job. Be safe.”

“Is it still Victoria you live, dear?” Jean said.

Lucy nodded.

“I know one of the libraries around there is looking for a clerical assistant, you would be quite marvellous at it,” Jean said.

“The Dewey decimal system will have never encountered such a great master,” Millie said. “Not even Jean.”

Jean picked up a stack of papers from the small table next to the armchair and rifled through them. “Here’s the advert,” she said, passing it over towards Lucy. “I’d be happy to put in a good word for you, if you apply.”

“And just like at Bletchley, I daresay everyone is scared of her, so it’ll go a long way,” Millie said.

“Thank you for that, Millie,” Jean said, raising her eyebrows.

“I’ll think about it,” Lucy said.

“Well, if you need anything, just ask,” Jean said.

“What if-,” Lucy started.

“Yes, dear?” Jean said.

“What if I never meet anyone else?” Lucy said. “If I break it off with Harry, I mean.”

Millie laughed. “Lucy, darling, you’re bright and sweet and good, any man would be lucky to have you,” she said. “You’ll find someone else, someone worth marrying. I’m sure of it. And even if you don’t, I can vouch for spinsterhood not being all that bad.” She was a little concerned that her last comment would spook Lucy, but fortunately she smiled.

The rest of their time together was dedicated to talking about more light hearted topics. Millie told Lucy a little about her travels and enjoyed the look of wonder on Lucy’s face ( _“We can go one day if you would like, Luce,”_ she said) and they reminisced some more about Bletchley ( _“I don’t miss the food, is that bad to say?”_ Lucy said and Jean replied _“No, dear, the food was quite terrible, even for Wartime”_ ). Jean talked a bit about the library, and Millie was quite embarrassed to realise she knew very little about her role there. Millie, when asked, spoke briefly about not being able to find a job, but moved the conversation on quickly.

When Lucy said it was time for her to go Millie raised up from the settee also.

“Thank you for having us, Miss Mc- sorry, Jean,” Lucy said. “The cake was lovely.”

“Yes, thank you, Jean,” Millie said. She was reluctant to leave, waiting on the other woman to offer a tenuous excuse for her to stay, but none came.

They exchanged hugs and Millie followed Lucy out of the flat, down the stairs and onto the street.

“How will you get home, darling?” Millie asked.

“There’s a bus that leaves from the stop over there in,” Lucy paused whilst she recalled the information and looked at her watch. “Seven minutes, so I’ll get that.”

Millie smiled. “You can always rely on that brain,” she said. “I’ll catch it with you, it’ll cut down my walk.”

“I didn’t know if I should come today,” Lucy said. “When I got home the other night, I threw away the piece of paper with Jean’s address on.”

“But, of course, that didn’t make any difference as you had already looked at it,” Millie said.

Lucy nodded. “I’m glad I did come, though,” she said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re glad,” Millie said.

“You needn’t leave on my account, you know,” Lucy said. “Not if you would rather stay with Jean.”

“Me and Jean aren’t together, darling,” Millie said simply, deciding that her explaining the concept of casual sex wasn’t something that either she or Lucy needed that evening.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lucy said, blushing. “I thought-”

“Don’t worry,” Millie replied. “It’s fine, really.”

“It was just the way you look at each other,” Lucy said.

Millie frowned. “What do you mean?” she said, watching as Lucy recoiled again. “No, I don’t mean that in a cross way.”

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess, once I knew you were, _you know_ , it made sense of how you are together, tonight and... in the bar. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be, honestly,” Millie said, doing her best to convey sincerity to Lucy but finding herself quite distracted. “I could certainly do worse than our Jean.”

She knew that she could easily make an excuse to go back upstairs and let herself find out if there was any truth in behind Lucy’s observations, but she stopped herself, and spent the journey home justifying that decision to herself.


	23. Twenty-Three

_London, 1948_

“You look tired,” Jasper said as Millie approached him.

They had agreed to meet at The Cromwell Hotel, the site of their success the previous week, in the hope they could replicate it. Millie had, of course, arrived a few minutes after the time they had arranged, a fact for which she no longer bothered to apologise.

“You really know how to charm a woman; do you know that?” she said.

“Well, I’m not going to waste my charm on one of your lot, am I?” Jasper said.

Millie shook her head. “I’m not usually into telling on people but I’m just too intrigued to see what your sister will say when she hears you said that,” she said.

“I’m joking, obviously,” Jasper said.

“Tell it to the judge,” Millie said, leaning in to speak more quietly. “The big _lesbian_ judge.”

“I feel like making me fear for my life is just you deflecting from telling me why you slept so badly,” Jasper said. “A visitor, perhaps? One with a stern but rather compelling Scottish accent?”

Millie rolled her eyes. “I do wonder when it will be that you mind your own business,” she said, a little sharply, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain her impatience with him.

“What was the deal with the little one, anyway?” he said, as if Millie hadn’t spoken. “From the bar, the other night. You know, looked like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose, Mary knocked her boyfriend out?”

“Yes, thank you, I gathered you meant Lucy,” she said. “What about her?”

“Well, what’s the story there? The way you were chatting it was like you were in some kind of secret society,” he said.

Millie smiled, amused by the astuteness of his wording. “She was a colleague of mine and Jean’s during the War,” she said. “Why are you so interested?”

“I was just thinking, well, we never solved the mystery of Jean’s Wartime love, did we?” he said.

Millie snorted with laughter. “If you had seen Lucy’s face when we explained that we actually a _re_ both queer, that us being in a lesbian bar wasn’t some kind of charming misunderstanding, you would not even _begin_ to suggest that anything happened between Jean and Lucy,” she said.

“Right, but what if Mary misunderstood, and it wasn’t that she _had_ a relationship during the War, but that there was someone she w _anted_ one with?” he said.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make the theory that person was Lucy any less ridiculous,” she said. “What even made you think of it?”

They walked into the bar and Millie waved to a couple of regular customers.

Jasper shrugged. “She just seemed a bit startled to have seen her,” he said. “And especially worried about her, that was mostly what she talked about on the way to the taxi.”

Millie took a minute to think about the possibility, her mind getting as far as wondering if it would perhaps account for Jean’s disinclination to invite her to stay the previous evening, before she forced herself to return to the realm of logic.

“The whole idea is absurd,” she said firmly. “If you find me a cocktail, I won’t tell Mary or Jean any of what have said in the last ten minutes.”

Jasper seemed to think this was a fair exchange and wandered off seeking a waiter carrying a tray of glasses.

Millie wasn’t standing on her own for long before Anne appeared.

“Hello, Millie, darling,” Anne said, leaning forwards to greet her with a kiss.

“Good evening,” Millie said. “Charmed to see you as usual, darling.”

“Busy week?” Anne said.

“Oh, nothing too taxing,” Millie said vaguely, imagining briefly she would even begin to explain in more detail if she wanted to. “Yourself?”

“A bit of a nightmare at the stables, you know how it is,” Anne said.

Millie cringed internally, mostly because she did know how it was.

“Still, all sorted now,” Anne said, with a tight smile. “And there’s an opportunity for a drink.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Millie said. “I would toast to that but Jasper seems to be distilling the gin for my cocktail himself.” She craned her neck a little to look around but couldn’t spot him.

Anne laughed. “Typical man, he’s probably off talking about the cricket somewhere,” she said.

“That’s Jasper,” Millie said, in what she hoped was a convincing way, interested to establish that Anne clearly did think her and Jasper were an item. Although that was _broadly_ their intention, it was a surprise to her that they were actually believable. Heterosexuals really could see heterosexuality in everything, it seemed.

Anne smiled in response before speaking. “I assume you’re in a position to take new orders today?” she said.

“Always,” Millie said. “Don’t tell me that husband of yours got through all those ciggies already?”

“No, no, he’s still going with those,” Anne said. “But I do have another friend who is interested.”

“I should be paying you commission,” Millie joked.

“Honestly, your service sells itself,” Anne said. “She’s just over there.” She gestured, not altogether subtly, in the direction she meant.

Millie looked over towards wearing a long, purple dress and sipping from a cocktail glass. The woman appeared, Millie thought, somewhat uncomfortable, but given that she was sitting alone in a bar, waiting to order black market goods for (presumably) the first time, she supposed that was easy enough to understand.

“Would you care to introduce me?” Millie said.

“Of course,” Anne said. “Now? Or would you prefer to wait for that gentleman of yours?”

Millie glanced around and still couldn’t see Jasper. “It’s not like he’s an awful lot of use even when he is here,” she said. “Lead the way.”

She followed Anne across the room, where the woman stood up to greet them.

“Caroline, this is Millie, who I was telling you about,” Anne said. “Millie, this is Caroline Brown, she’s very interested in what you have to offer.”

“I’m usually worried to hear that my reputation proceeds me, but perhaps in this instance it is nothing to worry about,” Millie said, with her most charming smile.

“Oh, it’s all good things she’s said, I assure you,” Caroline said, the slight wobble in her voice audible to Millie.

“I did hope I could rely on Anne,” Millie said.

“Like I said, I can’t recommend you highly enough,” Anne said. “The most recent-”

Anne’s sentence was cut off by Jasper cutting into the circle.

“I’m ever so sorry, ladies, but could I just borrow Millie for the tiniest moment?” he said.

Millie turned to him and raised her eyebrows. “Jasper, surely this can wait, I’ve only just been introduced,” she said.

“It can’t,” he said. “There’s a problem with your coat and I... uh... can’t remember which one is yours.”

Millie shook her head before looking back at the two women. “I’m so sorry, I shan’t be a moment,” she said.

“Typical man,” Anne said, looking at Jasper with an exasperated expression.

Millie followed Jasper out into the hallway, rounding on him as soon as they had an acceptable amount of privacy.

“What is it that is so urgent you had to interrupt me talking to a new customer?” she said. “I expect she’s spooked now, and I was rather counting on being able to buy a new pair of shoes off the money from today.”

“I thought you might want to know your _new customer_ is Old Bill,” Jasper said, matching her tone.

“What?” Millie said, feeling her heartbeat rise in her chest.

“Exactly,” he said. “I mean, technically she’s a clerical assistant, but she’s working with them.”

Millie frowned. “How do you know that?” she said.

“I bumped into a sort of acquaintance of mine when I was getting your drink,” he said.

“Speaking of which?” Millie said, thinking that alcohol would probably help her manage the situation.

“I drank it,” Jasper said. “I’m sure you can appreciate that my need was greater than yours.”

Millie rolled her eyes. “I suppose,” she said.

“Anyway, he’s a bigger fish than me and he’d heard from a bloke he knows – some officer he’s paying off, no doubt - that they were around today,” he said. “Orders from above to clamp down on sales in hotels, apparently.”

“And it’s definitely her, Caroline?” Millie said.

“I don’t know for sure – woman in a purple dress posing as a punter, he said,” Jasper said. “But even if there is some other woman in a purple dress in there it’s too bloody close for comfort.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Millie said, the enormity of the situation starting to hit her. She had been potentially been seconds away from offering to sell illegal goods to someone who was working for the police, and she didn’t feel at all sure that her accent and the privilege which came with it would have been enough to keep her out of trouble. “What do we do?”

“Go back in there-,” Jasper started.

“What?” Millie interrupted.

“Go back in there and act completely normal,” Jasper said. “Have a lovely chat with them about lacrosse or boarding school and play dumb to all the hints. Then pretend you have a headache or something, and we’ll get out of here.”

“What if I can’t do it?” Millie said, a little panicked.

Jasper put his hand on her arm. “If there’s one thing you know how to do it’s talking shit to rich women,” he said. “You were made for this moment.”

Millie laughed, the action helping settle her nerves.

“I’ll be nearby, so I can swoop in and be chivalrous when your headache comes from nowhere,” Jasper said.

“Okay,” Millie said.

She took a deep breath in and followed it with a long one out before wandering back into the bar.

“I’m so sorry,” Millie said emphatically. “I have no idea what Jasper thought, but I can rest assured that my coat is completely fine.”

“Not to worry, darling,” Anne said.

“Oh, of course not,” Caroline said. “Now, where were we?”

“I _believe_ I was just about to ask you where you went to school, Caroline?” Millie said. “It was boarding, I assume?”

Caroline looked briefly confused by the turn in the conversation but quickly recovered. “Yes, St Anne’s, in Buckinghamshire,” she said.

“Ah yes, I know it,” Millie said. “Who knows, perhaps we met on the lacrosse field a few years back.”

“Perhaps,” Caroline said.

“Millie, about the-,” Anne said.

“What was the mathematics like there?” Millie said, cutting across her. “I heard a lot of the schools around that way don’t think much of girls learning advanced maths, they think we’re naturally inclined towards the Arts.”

“Oh, it was quite fine, I think,” Caroline said. “I have to say I was never very good at it myself.”

“I’m sure you were a whizz, Millie,” Anne said. “What with-”

“I certainly wasn’t bad, although I don’t like to be too sure of myself,” Millie said.

“You must have to do a lot of adding up, these days,” Anne said.

“Oh, the usual amount I would say, mostly for shopping, recipes and things,” Millie said, surprising even herself with the lie about her following recipes, which she could only attribute to panic.

“Those are lovely stockings you’re wearing,” Anne said, clearly no longer concerned with keeping the conversation sounding natural. “Perhaps you could tell Caroline about them?”

“Thank you,” Millie said, scrunching her eyes up and feeling her forehead with the back of her hand. “They’ve been mended more times than I could tell you, though I appreciate they don’t look it.”

“Are you alright?” Anne asked, somewhat impatiently.

“Yes, fine,” Millie said. “I think I have a headache coming on, is all.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasper get up from his seat and few feet away and make his way over.

“We should go, if it’s one of your headaches,” he said.

“I’ll be okay,” Millie feigned. “I’m having such a lovely time.”

“She gets them bad,” Jasper said, addressing Anne and Caroline. “Can’t get out of bed for days with the worst of them.”

“Perhaps you should take her home, then,” Anne said.

“Jasper, I can make my own decisions,” Millie said.

“She gets like this too, so argumentative,” Jasper said, putting his arm around Millie’s waist. “Let’s get you home, love.”

Millie sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry, it feels so rude of me.”

“Not at all, these things happen,” Caroline said. “I’ll see you again, maybe.”

“I do hope so,” Millie said.

She exchanged kisses with the two women and then allowed herself to be ushered out of the bar by Jasper.

“Great work,” he said, once they were a safe distance away, removing his hand from her waist.

“Thank you,” she said, as they retrieved their coats from the cloakroom attendant. “Although I’m not entirely sure why you felt the need to make out like I am some kind of hysterical Victorian housewife.”

“That bit was purely for fun,” he said.

Millie breathed a deep sigh of relief as they made their way out into the early evening.

“Well, that was a crisis narrowly averted,” she said.

“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure?” he teased.

“I don’t think it’s unadventurous to not want to end up in prison over stockings,” Millie said straightforwardly.

Jasper laughed before seeming to notice that she wasn’t joining in.

“Are you serious?” he said. “It was a bit hairy but we’re alright, just need to lay low for a few weeks and then hit some different hotels. We probably have been going to the same places a bit too often.”

“But how long will it be until the next time the police show up?” Millie said. “Or worse, we do something that upsets whoever exactly is at the end of this chain and we get bloody _kidnapped_ or _murdered_ or-.” She cut herself off and lit a cigarette, offering the packet to Jasper afterwards.

“The first run with the Old Bill always hits a person hard, you’ll bounce back,” he said.

“Jasper, I’m not going to just jump back into this,” Millie said. “We could have been _arrested_ , and I think it’s quite clear I’m not cut out for prison.”

“Are you saying you’re out?” Jasper said, sounding a little crestfallen.

Millie put a hand on his arm.

“I’m saying I need to think about it,” she said.

“Well, it’d be a shame to lose you,” Jasper said, flicking ash off his cigarette. “We’re a good team, you and me.”

“I know,” Millie said, giving him a small smile and moving her arm to link it through his as they kept walking. “I don’t know about you, but I need a bloody drink.”


	24. Twenty-Four

_London, 1948_

When they arrived at The Spinning Wheel, it was to find Dorothy stood firmly in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she said, looking at Jasper. “You’re barred.”

“Seriously?” he said.

Dorothy raised her hands in front of her. “Not you personally, all men. It’s a management decision,” she said. “There are lots of girls feeling unsafe after the other night.”

Jasper, who had clearly been gearing up to argue with Dorothy, took a step back, seemingly in resignation, after she spoke, and Millie felt a renewed wave of affection for him.

“Well, I suppose that’s fair enough,” he said. “If you _could_ pass on to management that it would have been nice to have been informed in advance, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Millie asked.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Jasper said. “You go on in. I’ll head upstairs and ruminate on the crimes of men.”

Millie laughed. “You are truly hard done by,” she said. “If you’re sure?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Jasper said. “Go and be among your own kind.”

Millie shook her head and then kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll telephone, or turn up here to harass you,” she said. “When I’ve had time to think.”

Jasper nodded. “You know where I am,” he said, before turning to Dorothy. “Permission to get past you so I can actually enter my home, please?”

Dorothy looked from him to the doorway behind her which led to the flat, as if working out if it was a reasonable request.

“Alright,” she said. “But I’m watching you.”

“There is such a thing as taking a job too seriously, you know,” Jasper grumbled as he passed her.

“Not when it comes to community safety, there isn’t,” Dorothy said, before turning to Millie. “Come in, my dear.”

Millie walked into the bar, half-expecting it to be unusually busy after the fuss Dorothy had made about Jasper trying to come in, but besides Mary, there were only two other women in there, sitting close together in a corner.

“Are you on your own?” Mary asked when she looked up and saw her.

“I wasn’t until very recently,” Millie said.

Mary laughed. “Was he angry?” she said.

“Not really,” Millie said, taking a seat on a barstool. “More exhaustedly resigned, I think. He didn’t fight Dotty, which did seem like it was on the cards at one point.”

“Oh, doesn’t it always?” Mary said. “He never would. And neither would she, for that matter.”

“That’s true enough,” Millie replied, pulling out a cigarette.

“Gin?” Mary offered.

“Please,” Millie said.

“So, how did the exploits of you and my endlessly reckless brother go today?” Mary asked as she prepared the drink.

Millie laughed a little sadly. “Certainly could have gone better,” she said. “I’m beginning to think that perhaps I’m not cut out for a life of crime.”

“I’ll give Jasper that, he does make all that ducking and weaving look effortless,” Mary said.

“That he does,” Millie said.

“What’s the plan then, if you’re moving out of import-export?” Mary said.

“Oh, now, _that’s_ the thousand-pound question,” Millie said, taking the glass off the other woman when she offered it and taking a long drink. “What does a queer, impulsive, reasonably intelligent, utterly undisciplined, estranged daughter of aristocrats with no romantic prospects do with her life if not selling contraband to the upper classes?”

Mary raised her eyebrows and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the bar. “I wouldn’t let Jean hear you describe yourself as having no romantic prospects,” she said.

“With Jean, that’s-,” Millie said, realising after she had started to speak that she didn’t have the rest of her utterance planned. “It’s not like that, exactly. I mean, she doesn’t see me in quite that way.”

“Rubbish,” Mary said.

Millie rolled her eyes. “Really, I think I would know,” she said. “We are sleeping together, but-.”

“As is clear to anyone within a thirty-foot radius of either of you when the other one’s name is mentioned,” Mary replied.

“Trust me, it isn’t like that,” Millie said. “She rejected me. We started getting closer, at least, it felt like we were, and she backed off, so it seems pretty clear she isn’t interested.”

Mary pointed a finger at her. “I’m sure there are a lot of ways in which you are a darn sight smarter than me, but _never_ think you know more about this stuff than a proprietor of a queer bar,” she said.

Millie frowned. “I wouldn’t,” she said, a little defensively, because she knew she definitely _would_. “It’s just, even if she _did_ feel that way, she wouldn’t have _said_ anything.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Mary said. “It’s written all over her face when she talks about you.”

“When she _talks_ about me?” Millie said.

“Nothing personal,” Mary said. “Just in passing, in a way which is quite obvious is not actually just in passing.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Millie said. “She barely wants to be anywhere near me when we’re not fucking.”

Barring a handful of occasions, usually in which Millie had embarrassed herself, it was true. Jean had expressed care for her as a friend and as a lover, and her behaviour outside of the bedroom (or, indeed, the settee), had not been unkind, but it had been boundaried. From her snubs after what Millie had experienced as more emotionally intimate moments to their most recent interaction where Jean had not invited her to stay after tea with Lucy, all the signs pointed in the direction of Jean not seeing their relationship to have romantic potential.

“And why do you think that might be?” Mary said, sighing after a couple of moments of silence. “Because she’s scared, maybe?”

“Rubbish,” Millie said. “Jean’s not scared of anything.”

“That's some pedestal you've got her on,” Mary replied.

“I haven’t... it’s not... it’s just the truth,” Millie said.

She had seen Jean through virtually an entire _war_ , including the time the bombs had dropped _far too close_ to Bletchley, and she had been almost unflappable – angry sometimes, but never scared. The only time she could think of where she had seen an expression even vaguely resembling fear on Jean face had been... _the time Millie had looked down as she unbuttoned her blouse_.

“Why wouldn’t she be scared?” Mary asked. “She lost you once before. Any sane person would be afraid of that happening again.”

“What do you -,” Millie paused as the pieces of the puzzle came together. “You think it’s me, don’t you? The girl from the War.”

“I tend to leave the betting to Jasper, but it’s where the smart money is, I think,” Mary said.

“So you think-?” Millie said, frowning.

“I think that Jean loves you, and that you love her, too,” Mary said straightforwardly.

“I-,” Millie started.

“Have structured your life around your time with her, and never smile quite like you do when you’ve seen her? Ignored Jasper’s calls for a week and practically skipped back in here, right as rain, once you’d seen Jean,” Mary said.

“But that doesn’t mean-,” Millie said.

“Be honest with yourself, Millie,” Mary said.

Millie’s initial reaction was to resist, to continue to write off all the elements she hadn’t considered to be part of a wider pattern, or at least not one which led to the proposed conclusion – the urge to buy the hair slide, the way she had found herself daydreaming about Jean between times she saw her, how very much more _alive_ she had felt since she had had Jean in her life in this way – but the more she tried to stop herself the clearer the solution presented itself.

The truth was she had very little to compare her feelings to – she had considered herself to have been in love with Susan, and it felt very different to that. With Susan it had been a constant rush of feelings, with Jean it was more like a feeling of calmness, with predictability and safety alongside the excitement. Ultimately, it was the feeling of her heart fluttering in her chest at the thought of these feelings being returned that made her sure.

“What do I do?” Millie said.

“Have another drink and then go to her, I’d say,” Mary said.

Millie frowned. “I can’t go to her, it’s Sunday,” she said.

Mary quirked her eyebrow. “I think it’s probably okay for you to visit outside of your usual hours,” she said.

“I know, I -,” Millie said, before lifting her glass to her mouth and draining it. “Get me another?”

“As a bar owner, there’s something poetic about the idea of you going to declare your love to a woman drunk on her homebrew gin,” Mary said, pouring out a measure.

Millie laughed, albeit a little absently, distracted as she was by what she was about to do, namely _declare her love to Jean McBrian_.

“Do you think it’ll help my case?” Millie said.

“Can’t hurt it,” Mary said, placing the glass in front of Millie as she added the tonic. “Not unless you have the bottle, that is, best not be too sloppy.”

“Oh God, what if you’ve got this all wrong and she just laughs me out of the flat?” Millie said.

“I’m never wrong, Jasper will tell you that,” Mary said. “Besides, surely it’s better to be a bit embarrassed now than to spend the rest of your life wondering. You must have been embarrassed in front of her before?”

“Goodness, yes,” Millie said. “But not... like this.”

“Well, it’s your choice,” Mary said. “But I think you two could be the real deal.”

Millie found herself thinking back to the time at lunch with her family, that flash of a concept that had gone through her mind of being married to Jean. Whilst the marriage part was off the table, of course, the possibility remained that, if Mary was right, she and Jean could make some kind of life together, make a home made up of some of the things that had felt so wrong to consider with a man, but entirely different when she considered them happening with Jean. The prospect was as tantalising as it was frightening.

“I have to do it, don’t I?” Millie said.

Mary shrugged. “No. You could just go home and try to forget all about it, but it doesn’t seem like that’s what you want to do,” she said.

“What if I lose her?” Millie said with a frown.

“It seems unlikely, she’s too repressed for anything dramatic,” Mary said.

Millie laughed nervously. “Perhaps,” she said. “You are very wise.”

“Nah, just a bossy old woman, me,” Mary said.

“I mean it,” Millie said. “Fancy adopting me?”

Mary laughed. “Sorry love, I’ve done my fair share of child-rearing. I spent my twenties trying to get Jasper to put shoes on,” she said.

Millie looked at her inquisitively.

“He was a very well-behaved child, he just never seemed to want to wear shoes,” Mary explained, before looking pointedly at Millie’s glass. “Come on, drink up.”

Millie dragged out finishing her drink almost half an hour, her nerves building with each sip rather than diminishing as she had hoped. By the time she left it was coming up for eight o’clock and she was quite consumed by a faint feeling of nausea. She barely noticed Dorothy, although the other woman wished her a goodnight, other than to fleetingly wonder why she was taking delivery of a single red rose.


End file.
